


Ice and Magic

by IonicPaladin



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dorian - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Manorian, Romance, manon - Freeform, throneofglass, tog - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IonicPaladin/pseuds/IonicPaladin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snipets of life from our favorite Ice Prince and Ironteeth Witch. Dorian x Manon Manorian (All of these were written pre-EoS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

_You are mine, prince, mine._

_Mine._

Dorian screamed as he fought the darkness. He couldn’t believe it, to be trapped within himself once more. To be nothing more than a spectator in his own body. To know nothing other than pain and suffering.

It was so dark. He was suffocating.

This couldn’t be happening again. How could the Valg have control over him again? How did he let this happen? He needed to remember his name, what was his name?

_Nothing. Your name belongs to me._

_You are nothing._

But there was something, he realized as despair overflowed within him, around him. Another name. Her name.

Manon.

_Manon._

“Manon!”

He awoke in cold sweat, his breath ragged and coming out in thick clouds in front of him. His magic, Dorian realized, as his eyes adjusted to the room, the cold in his bones was only due to his magic. Desperately, he went for his neck to find there was no collar there, no prince in his mind. His body was his own. His thoughts were his own.

It was then that he noticed the warm hands on his face, turning him toward the right.

“Manon,” he muttered as her fingers stroked his face, his neck.

“You had a nightmare,” she said, those golden eyes reminding him that even if he were to be controlled again, she could find the man within him and if she couldn’t, she would waste no time ending his life.

Dorian grabbed for her arms, keeping her in place, thirsty for touch, for feeling. “It was the same as before.”

Manon tilted her head, her unbound white hair pooling over her bare chest and down unto her waist into the sheets. “It has been a while since the last time.”

Yes, he remembered, since she had taken to sleeping in his room. Since she came here every night, and sometimes part of the day, to stay with him. It had gotten so frequent, Dorian had commissioned a stable house for Abraxos. She had clothes here too, ones he had ordered for her, but which she only wore when in his company.

Slowly, softly, Dorian pulled back his magic, giving time for the fireplace to warm the room once more. Equally careful, he raised his calloused hand to her face, stroking the skin of her cheek. He leaned forward and she met him half way. “I can make you forget,” she said against the kiss, her hands wandering over his waist and down lower.

But he was already taking charge, his hands on her face, forcing her back against the pillows. “Please,” he groaned and she smiled against his lips.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken to reading the Throne of Glass novels recently and was pleasantly surprised to see hints towards this couple. Though I like the idea of Manon with Elide, I think she and Dorian would make an interesting couple. Let's see where the next book takes it.
> 
> For now, enjoy.


	2. Wet Towels

Dorian tried to hide his smirk as he placed his arms over the edges of the filled tub, the heat coming off the water was pleasant and he enjoyed the overall atmosphere despite the fact that his companion looked about as pleased as a wyvern in a prison cell.

“You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself,” he teased.

Manon narrowed her eyes further than they were as she stared at him from the other side of the tub, her hair up in a messy bun and her arms crossed over her chest. “I have no interest in bathing like this.” She was sometimes so inclined to practicality it was borderline painful.

Dorian tilted his head enjoying how the heat caused her pale face to flush slightly. “It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

“Your human customs are rather insufferable to be quite honest,” she looked down at the water at where their feet were tangled because there was not enough space. “How can you find this comfortable?”

The King chuckled and slowly moved forward toward her. She watched like a hawk would its prey and Dorian entertained the fact that he did not mind at all that he was the prey in this scenario, her prey. When he was close enough to mingle breaths he pouted. “Because I can do this.” Before she could react, he splashed water on her and let out a low laugh when he caught the expression of complete shock on her face.

It was gone the second it appeared and she glared at him, her mouth curving like she was thinking of baring her teeth. “You are so childish it’s maddening,” she told him before huffing slightly. “There is a point to having my hair up and that is so it _won’t get wet_.”

Dorian could only swallow as she raised a wave of water at him, enough that he was sure she used some magic to give it more force, aimed right at his face. After coughing, Dorian smiled, especially since there was barely any water in the tub left and Manon would soon realize that she had exposed herself to the cold. Even with his magic, Dorian suppressed a shiver, as winter in Adarlan was no laughing matter and it was close to freezing.

He watched as Manon turned to the towels behind him, which were completely soaked through. “Well,” he started as she looked away and brought her legs up. “It seems you’ve made a regrettable mistake.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I get more towels?”

Her gold eyes slid to his face and he felt desire course through him like molten lava, especially as he watched a drop of water fall slowly down her collarbone to where her arms covered her breasts. “What are you waiting for then?” She told him, knowing exactly what he was thinking, her tone of voice low and tempting.

Dorian played the fool, leaning back and getting comfortable, “let me just enjoy this moment of vulnerability.”

She flashed her nails. “I’ll show _you_ vulnerable if you do not get the towels this instant.” Her eyes lowered in emphasis and he pretended to be insulted.

“I thought that was your most favorite part of me,” she growled, “perhaps you would prefer to cuddle away the cold together?”

There were goosebumps on her skin now, but she kept her strong front admirably. “If I have to stand up and get the bloody towels we are never doing this again.”

Pleasantly surprised, his grin widened. “Does that mean you _want_ to do this again?”

She blinked, her face unreadable. “Five. Four-”

He was out of the tub and back with the towels from the closet before she could reach ‘one.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been warming up to this couple so here’s another small snippet. It’s a little sad to see so much hate toward Dorian with Manon, since I find their possible future interactions interesting and even rather amusing. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Also, I implore you take the time to tell me what you think. 
> 
> Thank you.


	3. Fussing

" _Dorian_ ," Manon seethed, "I am pregnant, not an _invalid_. Quit your ridiculous whining and let me do as I **wish**."

"Asterin said it was dangerous," he protested, going next to her, only taking his arm away when she bared her teeth. "You should be in bed."

There was a hiss building up in her throat, but she forced it down. "You unbearable fool, I am only going to the stables, not a war zone." She hadn't seen Abraxos since the day before and was feeling in need of his company.

Alone.

Not with a mate that would panic so much she sneezed in the wrong way and a group of equally intolerable witches that would gladly carry her around everywhere wrapped up in a protective layer of armor had their Wing Leader not consistently threaten them with permanent bodily harm.

But Dorian, the worm that he was, remained furiously insistent. "And I'm going with you, and with Asterin and Sorell."

Manon paused, looking at him with defiance. "I have as much chance dying by visiting the royal stables"-stables that were located _inside_ the castle walls-"as I am by being incessantly coddled by you, you insolent idle-minded mutt."

Dorian let out a breath, his perfect face concerned. "But it's dangerous," he complained. When she rolled her eyes, he stepped close and dared to brush away a few stray strands of white hair from her face. "Manon, please, I worry for you."

She watched him closely. "I sometimes wonder if you are part Fae with how much you _fuss_. Your worry is absolutely ludicrous, farcical, nonsensical, derisory-"

"I love you."

He pouted and she looked away quickly before being enchanted. He was not going to win this one, damn it.

Slowly, the witch turned to him, her expression less forced. "Nothing will happen," she muttered and transitioned into a calmer voice, one she knew he couldn't say no to. "I just need my time alone." His chin was jutting at an angle and she pleaded her case by grabbing him by the waist, her nails teasing at the fabric of his shirt.

"Please…" He shuddered at the tone and she knew she had him.

With the same care she raised her head and brushed her lips against the side of his chin while Dorian went completely stiff. "Manon," he whispered, but there was no man there, only male.

She smiled to herself. "I will be fine." Her lips traveled higher, toward his ear while her hands went under his shirt, stroking his spine.

His hands stroked her neck, like he was thinking. "Alright, just Asterin then," Manon stepped back, the moment broken, and before she could speak Dorian was already on it. "She'll keep her distance."

A growl, but she was done fighting over this fallacy. Reluctantly she said, "if I so much as smell her nearby be advised that you will be sleeping on the bathroom tiles tonight."

The King smiled and Manon wondered if she had made a mistake by agreeing with his bargain. "I accept your conditions," he told her. "I shall await for your return in our room then, my Queen." He even bowed and Manon wasn't sure how to feel.

The witch crossed her arms before nodding a little hesitantly. "So be it…King," her tone was more challenging than his and her use of the word 'King' was teasing, like she was imagining the bed all to herself tonight. "I'm leaving now."

Dorian merely smiled as he watched her go, noting how Asterin gave him a nod before following after her at a respectable distance, Sorell not far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope this scenario isn't too hard to imagine as Manon is slowly gaining her feelings in canon. Either way, pregnant-Manon would be super adorable, or as adorable as she could be. And Dorian being the puppy he is, would be overly protective.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. To Match Your Eyes

Manon was frowning, heavily so, as she checked over Abraxos' saddle carefully. When the wyvern shook himself, she withheld a growl. "Keep still or this will only take longer."

He huffed at her, but followed through, not moving as she made sure the leather where her feet went was still in good shape. "This will be good for tonight," she muttered as she straightened.

Abraxos turned to her, his head held at an angle so that he was level with her. As Manon met his eyes he bobbed his head in a manner she knew was a taunt. Taking a step back, she crossed her arms. "What?"

Abraxos shook himself before sniffing at her, specifically at the pouch she carried around her waist. "What, you intrusive whelp?" When she was about to back off, the wyvern actually placed a large paw behind her, keeping her in place while he used his tongue to infiltrate her pouch. "What in the Wyrd-" he growled at her and she paused in shock. Her recovery was swift however and soon she was pushing back at his head, growling back as her iron teeth were bared. "Abraxos, if you do not let me go this instant, I will cut off your wings and feed you to the spiders, you demented felcher."

And then he took his head back and between his iron-tipped teeth was an emerald necklace, the stones glinting in the setting sun streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Abraxos slowly removed his claw from around her, but she didn't move, staring at the beautiful jewel he held in his maw, knowing exactly what he wanted to communicate.

Manon did not accept gifts, ever. Even from someone as close to her as Asterin or Sorell. They knew she despised receiving things, the witch heir always felt like she owed when she was given something, and there is nothing more she detested than unpaid dept.

Controlling her expression, the white haired witch took the necklace from her wyvern, taking it in her hands and stroking the gold chain.

To match your eyes.

She gripped the thing while sneering at Abraxos. "What?" She asked him again, feigning ignorance.

The wyvern huffed before looking at something behind her. Irritated but intrigued, the witch followed his penetrating gaze…right to Asterin's female who was resting on her side, a large bone beside her, one Manon knew Abraxos gave her.

As if to prove his point, Abraxos nosed her hand, the one holding the necklace.

"He is no more than a plaything," she heard herself say as she watched the female wyvern sniff at the bone in her sleep. She met eyes with her own, "a distraction."

Abraxos lowered his head, his stupid gaze fixed upon the item in her hand. The one thing she had decided to keep despite her aversion to owing people things, despite considering the whole experience a fling, an enjoyable pastime at most.

But one night a month had lowered to once a week, then twice, four times. The only reason she was checking the saddle on Abraxos was because she was returning once more to that glass wall and that stone castle, to a room she was starting to know so well she had no need of light-

"He means nothing to me," she reiterated, gripping the necklace so hard her knuckles felt numb. "This means nothing."

The mongrel of a beast just kept staring at it, then up at her. She knew what he was thinking, not that Manon ever wondered what he actually thought of the late night outings where he would watch her from the courtyard next to the flowers he loved to smell as she went into the King's quarters and did not come out until hours later, sometimes close to morning.

Slowly, almost fearfully, Manon looked down to the gift.

What is that? She had asked as she had dressed.

She could still remember the smile he gave her-with an appreciative look in his eye-while he still lay bare before her. Well, clearly it's a necklace.

Manon had scoffed. Do you need help placing it on or something?

He had stared at her then, much like Abraxos did now, as if wondering if she was being dull on purpose or if she truly was as dense as she made herself appear. This is a gift, he said slowly, carefully. For you.

Manon stroked the stone, noting how perfect the cut was, imagining just how much it was worth to the common human. "I couldn't say no," she muttered, but quickly caught herself, snapping her golden gaze up to Abraxos. Annoyed at herself, the witch placed the necklace back into her pouch. "Perhaps there will be no outing tonight," she said.

"You should go."

Manon paused in the removing of the saddle feeling cold ice all over. For once, she wished the ground to swallow her whole, to forget that she ever spoke any words in relation to a handsome creature that had been nothing more than an afterthought in her mind. Abraxos' tail swished, signaling he was happy to see the intruder.

Traitor, Manon thought. He had always been a traitor.

"You like him, don't you?"

Manon closed her eyes as Asterin stepped beside her. Mayhap if she ignored her Second, Asterin would grow bored and leave.

"Manon."

No such luck.

The white haired witch removed her hand from the saddle, but refused to acknowledge Asterin's presence. "It's okay, you know, if you have feelings for him-"

"Do not go there," Manon bit. She dared to look at the blonde. "I feel nothing-"

"The gift he gave you, may I see it?"

Manon swallowed thickly, feeling inadequate and lost. Asterin's face was just so knowing, it made the Wing Leader feel like a child. Mutely, she reached into her pouch and took out the necklace. She watched her Second smile, the action beautiful and natural, like she was remembering something nice. "Is this emerald?" A nod. "It's beautiful…the gold matches your eyes."

That's what he had said.

"You can have it."

Why did that…hurt?

Asterin raised elegant eyebrows. "We both know you don't mean that." When Manon looked away, her Second spoke again, this time in a much quieter voice. "I know how you feel, how confusing it is at first, but later-"

"Stop." It came out as a weak whisper, something Manon had never heard from herself before.

As an answer, Asterin stepped toward her, placing the necklace back in the pouch. And then Manon felt a warm hand on her face and though she flinched, she didn't push Asterin away. "Go to him, at least for tonight. Take it day by day, slowly. Don't fight things, let events run their course naturally."

"How long have you known?"

Asterin removed her hand and a grin replaced the soft smile she had sported before. "About your little escapades? Since they started, though some of the others are a tad worried because you're out more consistently lately."

I am such a fool, Manon thought.

"I told them not to worry," her Second added. Rendered speechless, Manon's eyebrows drew together. Such a huge fool. She glanced at Abraxos while Asterin placed her hands on her hips. "You should wear it."

"What?"

"The necklace. You should wear it."

Manon observed her pouch, actually considering it. Finally, "You said to go slow, I don't think I want…"

"I understand, but please, don't give it to someone or throw it away, you will end up regretting it."

Manon nodded. "I will keep it."

A smile, one that Manon was sure would smite quite a number of men in their tracks. "Good, now go, you're already late." Without awaiting for confirmation, the golden-haired witch left, but not before giving Manon a wink the latter didn't react to.

Abraxos observed her expectantly…and Manon got unto the saddle.

…

Deep into the night, Manon Blackbeak stared at the form beside her in heavy consideration, listening to the steady breathing, taking in the bare skin. Her head felt muddled.

"Dorian," she breathed almost hoping he hadn't heard.

But his cerulean eyes, noticeable in the candlelight, turned to her. "Yes?" She took her time and he waited patiently, his face showing signs of tiredness-product of their joined exertion.

"Thank you."

The King's eyes lit up, but he controlled his expression well and she wondered if it was for her benefit. "For what?"

Breathing out she said, "the necklace."

His smile was so beautiful she was reminded of sunshine and fresh snow and flowers and other silly things that made her want to consider a lobotomy due to their ridiculousness.

How did he do it? Manon wondered.

How did he make her think like this?

Was he even slightly aware of the turmoil he caused?

And then she noticed how close he was, so close she could smell him clearly, a scent that was slowly driving her mad. For a moment the King seemed to hesitate, but gaining courage, he gently reached out with his hand, touching at her hair with his fingertips, asking permission with his eyes. When she didn't object, with the same speed, the same care, he slowly stroked her head. An action so bewilderingly intimate the witch felt her eyes grow misty. No one had ever touched her in this way before.

Shyly, reverently, Dorian leaned forward and placed a kiss against her forehead.

"You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I was doing these short on purpose and I ended up doing a longer one.  
> Thanks for the comments Like_it_Random and sonlight_graphics, I'm happy to hear from other Manorian fans.  
> I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading.


	5. Yellow Dress

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

No-no-no-no-no-no.

“Sorrin,” Dorian whispered harshly, going through the halls of the castle in the afternoon light. Why was it so big? There were so many rooms, so many places a small three year old could hide. So many places she could fall and get hurt!

The King had the urge to groan, but contained it when he passed by the twins who were looking at him knowingly, like they found it _amusing_. “Everything alright, King?”

Dorian smiled, “fine, I am just taking a walk before dinner.”

“Ah.”

He kept walking, trying to contain his concern, his worry from them. When he rounded a corner and neither followed he sagged in relief, knowing a word from them could get him in deep trouble. The feeling was short lived, however, and once again Dorian found himself searching, entering rooms he hadn’t even known existed and feeling the rising panic in his stomach.

“Sorrin,” he said again, daring to speak a little louder. Nothing, but then-

There, a bracelet on the floor, too small to fit in an adult’s hand, too beautiful to be of a servant’s child. She was near, he was sure.

Repeating the name, muttering things, Dorian entered a large guest room, not unlike the one Aelin had stayed in all those years ago. There was a shift and what could be assumed to be a giggle. “Sorrin, my love, come on out, we’re done playing hide and seek,” he told her, hoping his desperation wasn’t leaking through.

It had been two hours since he started searching and the last thing he wanted was for his Queen to come home after he begged her to let their child stay with him for the first time, only to find said child gone. He could already feel the disappointment in her golden gaze with the obliged ‘I told you so’ and cross of the arms. Perhaps even a pillow and a growl telling him to sleep on the couch for failing. His thoughts of his potential demise halted when he opened the adjoined bathroom and spotted salvation. The skirt of a yellow dress peeking out from behind the large tub.

Relief spread through him, quick and thick as he pretended to still be searching for her. “Hmm,” he said, “I wonder where Sorrin is? She doesn’t seem to be here.” There it was, an adorable tiny giggle, and Dorian found himself smiling widely especially as he inched away toward the door. “Maybe she doesn’t want to see Sam,” he said, referring to Aelin and Rowan’s son, a boy two years older, all of which were on their way there for a ball soon. “Oh, well, maybe next time.”

He felt the intake of breath as her little head went over the implications, considering what was more fun. Letting Papa freak out over not finding her for the rest of the night or playing with the young Fae prince who thought he was so strong and big and whom she loved to play pranks on just to prove him wrong.    

For a moment, Dorian thought she would stay hidden, choosing tormenting him over the young boy. But patience was on his side as the child laughed loudly and started for him, those golden eyes and that dark hair a whirlwind of color as she slammed into him. “Papa! Papa! I’m right here!”

Despite his worry, despite the two hours he’d been nursing a potential heart attack, Dorian laughed, picking her up and twirling her around. “Oh, there is the princess!” She giggled again. “You get better and better at hiding, huh?”

As he placed her down and took her hand, Sorrin grinned with such budding beauty that Dorian felt a shiver down his spine. So beautiful, he thought as she blabbered about her favorite hiding spots and how many times he had been close to getting her, she was so, so beautiful.

Driving the thoughts away, and thinking how he still had quite a number of years before he had to worry about what exactly that kind of beauty could attract, Dorian tightened his grip on her small hand. “Mama will be here soon, but you know what she will say if you don’t eat dinner.”

Sorrin’s face crinkled cutely. “She says I will grow weak and die!” Hiding his flinch at the bluntness, the King nodded because she was looking at him before the child raised a hand. “And I have to eat lot’s if I wanna be a powerful witch like Mama!”

He smiled at her. “So what are you going to do, little witchling?”

Her grin widened and she skipped as they walked across the hall, ignoring the bows from the guards and servants. “I going to eat all of it!”

Not being able to contain himself, Dorian scooped her up and laid kisses on her cheeks and forehead. She laughed at that, holding his face, but letting him do as he wished. “All of it?” He asked her as she hugged his neck.

“Yes! But dessert first!”

Dorian laughed.

Manon had nothing to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the name Sorrin by mixing Sorrel and Asterin, Sam is due to Aelin's first love and Faline and Fallon knew exactly what Dorian was actually doing and found it hilarious.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! Thank you!


	6. Stealing - Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some language

Dorian huffed in victory. Some idiot had left his car in the middle of a wide alley with no lights and no witnesses around. "Sweet," the young man muttered, huffing into his torn gloves to combat the cold. The windows on the unmarked were dark, perfect for spending the night. Giving a look around, Dorian tried the door and smirked despite it being locked. The wheels looked good despite the car's apparent age and the paint work seemed only a few years old which meant it was well cared for. Quietly, like he was used too, Dorian got to work, taking out his pins and leaning down in front of the door.

It took a freezing minute to get it open, but the click made the blue-eyed man almost groan in anticipation. After he opened the car door, he swiftly got inside. It smelled like a woman owned it, one that smelled delightful getting him thinking about relationships and the last time he had kissed someone. Blocking his thoughts, he noticed there was nothing on the seat next to his or in the glove compartment other than an old map and some napkins. Only the nice scent in the air was any indication that a female had been here.

"Sorry, sweetheart, the car's mine now" he muttered under his breath as he bent under the steering wheel…only to find the wires already out, someone had already stolen and rigged it.

"Don't fucking move." That's why it smelled like a girl in here, Dorian thought as he lifted his hands at the push of cool metal on his neck. Because there still was a girl in here. "Exit slowly."

She meant business and Dorian followed the instructions, opening the door to the freezing cold and stepping out. One of the backdoors opened and he glanced back only to recoil a little.

"Wow, you're…very pretty."

That was an understatement, but wow.

"Shut it," she snapped as she still held up the gun and began to pat him.

"Baby, if you wanted to do that, we can do it in the warmth of the car."

Glaring with eyes that were gold, **gold** , the girl stepped back. She had to be homeless, there was no way anyone in their right mind would spend the night in a car in this weather. Dorian himself had considered breaking into a building somewhere, even though getting caught would mean possible jail time. "Turn around and go."

"Is your hair naturally white or do you dye it?"

Snow fell around them, clinging to the dirty ground. Soon it would be no more than mud, the sticky-wet kind that was a pain to clean, especially when you couldn't shower easily.

"Turn around," she said again, "and go."

Dorian observed her then, noting her clothes-in good condition but perhaps in need of a wash-and her face-naturally beautiful but haggard, like she needed a meal. She was really pale too, but maybe it was because it was the dead of winter and enough to freeze hot water. "Look, why don't we cut a deal?"

"I don't make deals."

Man, her voice was heaven despite her looking like she would bite his head off. "I got a pack of fresh bread on me with those butter strips they give out at restaurants for free, yeah? You let me stay in the car for the night and I'll give you half of my share." It was a tough bargain, but there was no way anyone would survive the night in this weather, especially since it was getting worse by the minute.

"I could take your food and still shoot you."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You'd kill me for trying to find shelter?"

She shrugged and kept her ground, tilting her head as she said, "desperate times."

"Look, let's start over," he started again, noting how the snow fell in bigger clumps. "I'm Dorian. Sorry about breaking into your car like that. There's a blizzard coming and I'm going to die if I don't find shelter soon. Please let me stay the night in the car. I promise I won't bother you or try anything weird."

Unimpressed, her eyes narrowed. "You think you're the first cute guy I've talked to that tries to mean well, but is really a giant dirt bag on the inside?"

Dorian couldn't help but smile. "You think I'm cute?"

Her expression was dead as she muttered an 'insufferable' Dorian chuckled at. Despite his amusement though, there was a clear underlying current of **fear** growing within him. If this beautiful girl didn't let him share the car, he was as good as dead in this cold. She observed him then and for a second he felt like she could read his mind.

"You said your name was Dorian?" He nodded, his hands still up. "How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"You homeless?" Another nod. She sighed and the gun in her hand went a little slack which relieved him minutely. "You're lucky I'm feeling generous, but if you even _think_ about trying something-"

He cut her off, taking a step forward. "I promise, I won't." The sincerity seemed to surprise her for she blinked. Slowly, she brought down the gun, pocketing it while giving him a look with the clear message that she was fast enough to get to it should he be lying.

"Get in the front passenger seat. Don't bother me."

Dorian gave a relieved breath and she pretended not to notice. "Understood…um?"

She opened the door and with her back to him said, "Manon." What an odd name, he thought as he followed through and went to the front. Foreign.

It was still cold enough in the car to warrant his coat staying on, but warm enough to perhaps survive the night. The silence was a little jarring after he heard Manon get comfortable in the back. "You eat today?" He asked.

"Some," was the quiet answer, like she was grinding her teeth. She didn't like to admit to weakness, especially to a stranger.

Mutely, the young man placed his ragged black backpack turned brown by dust on his lap, taking the bread and small butter sticks he had talked about earlier. Fortunately the cold kept everything fresh and he took four pieces-with two sticks-and gave them to her.

Manon hesitated, but took the offering with a 'thank you' he had to strain to hear. Something hit his head and the grunt of pain and slight anger was replaced by gratitude when he noticed a water bottle now on his hand. "That's the only one you get," he heard her say, "don't waste it."

Speechless, Dorian marveled at the closed lid. This was a new water bottle, something he hadn't had in weeks. "Wow, thank you. I mean it."

"Whatever."

They stayed in silence for a long time, the only sound was the slight shifts and drinks of water. As the day turned into night, the storm grew worse and soon Dorian found himself shivering in his seat despite his layers and using his pack as a shield. After he blew into his frozen fingers for the tenth time in the five minutes, the young man looked curiously behind him wondering how Manon was doing.

She was turned away from him and laying down across the back seats, her form stiff against the fake leather. She had really pretty hair, he thought offhandedly noting how the strands contrasted well against the dark of the car. Only because he was staring did he notice the heavy shiver that racked over her and how she lowered her head against the back of the seat, seeking warmth. Turning back to the window in front of him, Dorian let out a short breath as he looked back.

"Hey, Manon." No answer, so he tried again. "Manon." When she kept quiet one more he turned to her. "Hey, you dead or what?"

"I told you not to bother me." If the shivering wasn't indication enough, her voice hitched up when she spoke. She must be freezing.

"The storm's getting worse."

"Really? I couldn't tell by all the roaring around us." He bit back a bark of laughter.

With a smile he said, "it will only get colder."

There was a pause. "So?"

"There is quite the chance that one of us won't make it through the night." And by 'one of us' he meant her of course. She was thin and lean and shivering like a newborn fawn an hour after birth.

He heard her shift around. "If I die you can take the car, just dump my body in the river."

The starkness of her statement made him freeze up for a second. "That's actually not funny."

At his blatant concern, Manon turned toward him meeting his gaze with those pretty gold eyes of hers. "We'll be fine." When Dorian kept staring, she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"We could huddle," he offered slowly.

"Fuck no."

"Hey, wait," he called as she made a move to turn around again. "I'm serious, this storm might kill us."

"Such a good excuse," came the droll reply.

Dorian shook his head. "Look, yeah I think you're beautiful and all that jazz, but I'm not offering this to get in your pants. It is freezing outside and I can't feel my fingers and don't try telling me you're trying really hard not to shiver like a cat out of a bathtub."

The only sound was the roar of the wind as the snow kept falling, covering the car and street in thick sheets of white.

Manon looked at him then, her face unreadable. "You think I'm beautiful?" She mocked in a voice similar to his, and though he tried, Dorian couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

"To be honest, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he admitted, "but that changes nothing."

Slowly, she sat up, leaning against the car door so that she was fully turned to him. "How long has it been since you've taken some form of a shower?"

The young man pursed his lips. "Two days." If it was summer perhaps she should've been disgusted, but Dorian hadn't sweat a single drop in weeks.

A nod and he observed as she thought about it, her arms crossed. "If you try anything, I will cut off your balls and hang them off the nearest streetlight."

He tried to stop the flinch, but failed. Still, he said, "I promise."

Before the girl changed her mind, Dorian was making his way to the back. It was cramped, but the moment they were close, he could already feel the warmth. She smelled so good up close he wondered what kind of perfume she used, even when it didn't make any sense because she probably couldn't afford one. She let him place himself against the door and seat and with his hand signaled her to lay flat against him. He looked up only to meet with a frown.

He smiled, "what, you got a boyfriend?"

"I should kill you," she muttered, but he could tell it was a joke.

Daringly, he went for her arm. "Desperate times, right?"

"Don't get used to it."

"I won't."

Manon's response was to turn around and lay against him. It was a little awkward because she was so stiff, but the colder it got the more relaxed they were, especially when he wrapped his arms around her. It was way easier than he thought to fall asleep.

…

Dorian awoke with a groan. "Crap, my neck."

But that was all that bothered him as he was warm and it still smelled nice. He was feeling a little braver this morning though as he patted Manon's head laying against his chest. "Hey, you're cute when asleep, but my neck is killing me so get up."

It took a little bit of coaxing, but the second she realized what was going on, Manon sprang back, hitting her head against the roof of the car while her knee connected with his thigh, pinching it against the seat. "Ow!" He yelled, as Manon grabbed for her gun. "Man, are you like this every morning? No wonder you don't have a boyfriend."

There was moment of confusion on her face, before she noticed what was going on. Dropping the gun, she rubbed her head. "Sorry," she said, but Dorian felt like she didn't mean it. "I'm not used to sleeping with people."

Dorian smirked. "Oh-?"

"You say something lewd and I will claw out your eyes and feed the rest of your body to the street dogs."

"Are you always this prone to violence or is it just me?"

Gold eyes narrowed a bit before she lifted her hand and he watched, mystified, as she touched his face. Her fingers were cold, but it felt nice to have some human contact when it had been so long. Suddenly, she grabbed his cheeks enough to hurt and he protested when she held on. "Stop asking so many questions," she warned and the vice grip relented.

As Dorian rubbed his face with a pout, Manon looked out. "Great."

"What?" He muttered, flexing his jaw as he followed her gaze.

Ah.

The car was completely covered in snow.

Despite the situation, Dorian grinned. "I guess we're stuck here, huh?"

Manon groaned.

…

"A girlfriend."

Dorian turned to Manon in confusion as they walked down the street, stepping over snow and sleet as the afternoon approached. They had been able to get out of the car after a few hours of waiting. The sun melting the snow enough for them to get out through the windows.

"What?"

"I've had a girlfriend before, not boyfriend." He almost fell, stumbling enough that a group of kids hanging out on the curb noticed and laughed.

"What-Wait. Does that mean you're not into guys?"

She smiled, a cunning, sneaky expression that was more atone with a leopard than the cat he had imagined her as. "Why? Are you interested?" His expression must have given him away and as he blushed at being caught, she chuckled.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU has been on my mind for a while. I'm not sure if there will be a second part, but it was fun to write. Who the ex gf is will remain something that I'll leave to your imagination. (Though I think it's a bit obvious?)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!


	7. Disobedience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place during EoS

Dorian was on his couch in front of a warm fireplace with a book on his lap and tea on the ornate table next to him when he heard it. A loud screeching noise reminiscent of a shrill scream which made the book fall right out of his hands and for him to stand up in shook. Wide eyed, he turned to the covered glass next to his bed that led out to a spacious balcony. It was dark outside and there was a heavy patter as rain fell in big clumps unto the balcony floor.

A groan, animalistic and desperate, resounded from behind the door. Honing unto his magic in case some sort of creature burst through the glass, Dorian slowly moved the silk curtains out of the way…only to curse as a chill went through him. There was a huge hulking beast outside, one with scars peppered all over its face. It took a moment for Dorian to realize what, or rather, who it was.

Abraxos. It was Abraxos, and the beast's eyes were so wide the whites were visible. When he spotted Dorian, the wyvern groaned again, close to a mewl and scratched at the glass with an iron claw, making the sound again.

Without thinking it over twice, Dorian opened the glass door and stepped outside into the rain. "What is it? What are you doing here?" He gasped, wondering where Manon was and-

"By the Wyrd."

She was there, on the wyvern's back, unconscious and bleeding, half falling out of the saddle. The visible arm Dorian could see was slowly dripping a pool of blue blood unto the stone. For a second, Dorian was unsure what to do. Manon and him were not particularly close nor did they speak often. They had bedded each other once, when Dorian had been half out of his mind and she had been available. The product of a mutual allure and because Dorian had felt some sort of warped gratitude toward her.

Why did Abraxos bring her to him rather than her Thirteen?

The wyvern huffed in the King's direction and Dorian snapped to attention. He supposed at this moment, it didn't matter what they were-or rather were not-to each other. Taking action, he went for the leather around her legs, unhooking her from the saddle in swift motions. When she was free, he grabbed for her waist and readily carried her in his arms.

She wasn't particularly heavy, and as he headed back inside, he stole a glance at Abraxos. "Uh, stay here, be quiet, okay?"

His guards would be on their way to his room already and after he placed Manon on the bed, he went to his door and reassured the ones already posted outside his door that there was no danger, but that he needed healers. They both nodded before one of them went in search for what he asked for.

Closing the door, Dorian hurried to Manon, staring at the blood, not knowing where the worst of it originated from. The sheets were soaking through already, from both the water from the rain and her blood. He went for the brooch on her cloak and was surprised to notice it wasn't her usual red one. Whatever she had been doing involved stealth and something must have gone terribly wrong.

When he took off the soaked cloak he cursed. There were lacerations everywhere, across her stomach, her neck and arms, across her thighs. Like something with claws had attacked her. His thought process stopped despite the fact that he went for towels, anything to try and stop the bleeding. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been attacked by another witch, nothing else could get so close or produce this sort of wound pattern. Someone she trusted had attacked her, he was sure.

The worst of it was a set of four parallel cuts that ran across her left wrist and which continued unto her thigh. They were so deep he could see the muscle and parts of bone underneath. Holding back a shudder, Dorian placed the towels over the wounds, hoping that it could help slow the bleeding.

A series of knocks on the door made him let out a breath in relief and he ushered the healers in quickly who stared at the witch on the bed in hesitation. "It's fine," Dorian told them, perhaps a little too clipped, "she's a-" A what? A friend? A person he knew? A one-night-stand that he couldn't stop thinking about sometimes to the point where it made him want to pull his hair out? "She's someone I trust," he told them. "Please take care of her."

It was all it took to convince them, for the healers turned to one another and nodded before going to work on Manon, who was looking paler by the second. They were all quiet as they worked, Dorian helping out by bringing water, or more towels or bandages. They were at it for hours, the rain keeping them company as Abraxos watched from the window, his head low on the ground, like he was worried for his rider.

When it was close to four in the morning, the healers finally stopped and Dorian breathed out as he observed their handiwork. Bandages covered ninety-percent of her body, the color of them almost the same as her skin. It worried Dorian and he was surprised at the splurge of emotion. He had barely spoken to her. Even after that night, months ago when she came to the city and he had opened the glass door leading to his balcony.

It had been raw and desperate and borderline maddening, but he had needed the attention, craved it. And Manon had seemed to understand, going so far as to admit she had been curious about him too, interested in what 'the princeling' could offer.

After it happened, she had left while he fell asleep and when morning came he had wondered if it had been a dream. The King had been close to convincing himself that it **had** been a dream when he spotted the white strands of hair on his pillow and how the sheets were too messy to have been caused just by his usual nightmares. Her scent had lingered too, tantalizing him for the rest of the day.

He had seen her only once after that, when he finally left the castle before heading north, to a small town a few miles out. She had been nearby and Dorian followed the wyvern in the sky for a reason that baffled him to this day, much like her appearance here did now. Back then they had spoken a little and he had talked to her about the Valg prince, something he'd never opened up about to anyone before.

She had listened in carefully before telling him that she understood.

There had been no judging, no calling him out for what he did under his father's control, no pity, just silent acceptance. She had left without a single touch that time though.

The healers left close to dawn, telling him that all she needed now was bedrest and food. Turning the couch to face the bed, Dorian lay down on it before falling asleep.

…

Manon awoke into heavy murkiness, her whole body aching at the strain of her muscles when she did so. Swallowing, she breathed out at the dryness, confusion mushing her thoughts together. Opening her eyes, the witch couldn't recognize her surroundings. She was laying on something soft, a bed, but this wasn't the one in Morath.

A tilt of her head and she could see the rain outside bouncing off Abraxos, who was asleep on…on a balcony?

Realization hit her hard and fast.

Despite her many injuries, Manon sat up and bit back a bark of pain as her body howled at the movement, the brunt of it on her left thigh. Trying to ignore the agony, the witch looked around the room, recognizing the polished walls and carpeted floor, the bed she was in.

The stone castle, the glass wall.

Dorian.

He was fast asleep on a couch facing the bed, like he had been watching over her and fell asleep. His hair was messy and his clothing rumpled, the sleeves of his simple shirt, white with blue spots, pushed up over his elbows.

Why?

She turned to the wyvern, whose snout was so close to the glass it fogged whenever he breathed.

Why had Abraxos brought her here of all places?

Clutching her head with her right hand, the one that hurt less, she tried to remember what had happened. Duke Perrington. She had refused to give him a new coven. When he lost the witches he had been breeding and the otherworldly spawn they had produced he had demanded three Blackbeak covens to replace the ones he lost.

When Manon's grandmother found out her granddaughter was not being cooperative, she had been livid. To the point where she personally went to the mountain, where for the first time in her life, Manon had said no to her face. Where she inadvertently challenged her leader, one she had sworn to protect and obey, to die for.

The Matron had gone quiet, a lethal-deathly type of silence that Manon had never seen from her before.

_You have grown soft._

Manon had shaken her head, frustrated by the fact that the older witch never listened. _We are not tools to be used and tossed aside. We are Blackbeaks, we are-_

_I will kill you if you say another word._

Manon had no idea what went through her, it was as if the goddess herself had taken over her body. _This is not right._

The attack had been swift, and harrowing, and unforgiving. Her grandmother had shoved her straight through the door of her room, where her shocked Second and Third had been standing next to. They had not intervened immediately, but when the Matron kept going, drawing more blood and striking deep, Asterin snapped.

Asterin…

"Oh, you're awake, good."

Manon looked away from Abraxos to meet with sapphire eyes, and the memory of their encounter flashed through her mind. She had not forgotten a single detail since that night, where she had accepted his advances because she had found him attractive, alluring. Nothing more than a commodity.

This however…

"Manon?"

She was squinting, she realized, she couldn't see well. She moved her hand to her forehead as she closed her eyes, overwhelmed like never before, unsure of what to do or say or think.

The stupid beast.

Why did Abraxos choose here?

"Hey." Manon actually startled as she realized the Prince was next to the bed, his face contorted in concern. She didn't understand the expression, it made no sense for him to be that way. "Sorry," he mumbled, leaning down so as not to crowd her. "You arrived here last night, Abraxos brought you in unconscious." She glanced at the creature from the corner of her eye. She had deduced as much.

Dorian tilted his head, his hair catching the light from the candle next to the bed. "Are you hungry? The healers said you needed food."

Manon couldn't tell what she was feeling. Her thoughts were hazy and she felt…insecure. Her Thirteen, what were they doing? Had the Matron killed them?

Just the thought made her wake up, alertness driving her senses in a motion of desperation so deep she could have sobbed. The white-haired witch hadn't realized she was trying to leave the bed until Dorian pushed her back. "Woah, wait, you're not supposed to move."

She pushed at his chest but her strength had flagged, she was so weak she couldn't move him an inch. "I have to go back," she breathed, "I have to-"

"You're hurt, badly," he bit back, still holding her, albeit careful of her wounds. "Whatever it is that happened and whatever you need to do has to wait. You are of no use to them like this."

Anger coursed through her. Blind fury that coated her vision and made a clog form in her throat. Anger at Dorian, for being stronger than she was at the moment. Anger at Abraxos for taking her here. Anger at Asterin for protecting her. Anger at her grandmother for being so blind. Anger at herself for letting it get this far.

"Hey, don't cry. It's going to be okay."

What?

"Manon."

His hands made her freeze, the warmth a startling contrast to the cold fury in her chest. He brushed away tears, **tears**. In a quick motion, Manon tore away from him, hurting her arm and grinding her teeth at the pain. "I need to go."

Dorian didn't respond to that, he merely stared at her. "Your grandmother did that to you, didn't she?"

She tried to swallow again, her throat burning. She welcomed the pain, grounding herself in it, concentrating on her wrath, fighting the pressure on her chest. "I made a mistake," she realized. "And it will haunt me until the end of my days." Her newfound immortality seemed more like a curse now. She was nothing if she was not a Blackbeak.

"The healers said you will recover," he told her, his voice low and slow. "But you need to stay in bed."

Looking up, Manon met his eyes again. "Water."

The tense knot on his shoulder eased, and he nodded as he went to fetch the liquid from a pitcher on the low table at the other edge of the room. "I'll get you something to eat too, alright? I'll ask the healers to bring tonics."

She ignored Dorian in favor of Abraxos, who had raised his head. He was staring at her, giving her a little nod she knew meant he was happy to see her awake.

If Asterin, or any of her Thirteen were dead…

"Here." She took the water mutely, but her grip failed her, pain lacing up her arms. Dorian held on though and she suddenly felt foolish. How could she face her grandmother, and possibly the other covens, when she could not even lift a cup? "It's okay, I got it."

"Why?" Manon asked.

"What?"

"Why are you helping me?"

Still holding the cup close to her lips, Dorian frowned…and then a small glint appeared in his eyes. "It would be a shame if I left a woman so beautiful face such a terrible fate."

Manon fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I am no woman."

He huffed, the corner of his full lips rising, perhaps at the same memory she was thinking about. "Well, you certainly _felt_ like one." When she growled he licked his lips, his amusement clear. "Drink." She only followed his order because she was parched and needed the strength. The Prince watched carefully, tilting the cup slowly and making sure nothing spilled, going so far as to place a hand under her chin. But he was Prince no more, was he? A King now.

As he went to get more, Manon realized she had never let anyone do that before, not even when she had been close to losing her arm in those frozen mountains long ago. As she watched him, Dorian went to the door and spoke to someone outside quietly before heading back inside and getting her another drink. "I've sent for the healers, okay?"

"I need to send a message." She was unsure how or to where she would send it, but she needed something to do, anything. Dorian nodded and she blinked when he sat on the bed, extending the cup toward her mouth.

Swallowing her pride, Manon drank again.

…

Her wounds were healing so slowly, Manon realized with heavy disdain later in the day. She knew nothing of what was going on in Morath, what her Thirteen were doing, if any of them still lived. She was stuck in this stone castle with a King that kept staring at her as if unsure of what to do. After the healers helped her bathe and change-much to her chagrin-Manon lay on the couch as Dorian changed the sheets. He had called off his servants, preferring to do everything himself. Odd, but not something she would comment on.

"The mistake you said you made. What was it?"

Abraxos shook his head, his large snout sticking into the room now that the sun was out. At her request, Dorian had moved the couch next to him, so that the wyvern could sniff at her. She patted the top of his nose with her healthier hand and the wyvern blew some air on her in an action she knew meant affection. "I disagreed with the Matron."

"And she attacked you?"

"She meant to kill me."

"For disagreeing?"

She kept staring at the wyvern. "I disobeyed an order and the punishment is death even if I am her heir." _Was_ her heir, she thought with an imperceptible flinch.

Dorian passed a hand over the sheets, a heavy frown on his face. "Is she going to hunt you?"

"Until she has a body, she will assume I am alive." So a yes.

"You can stay here for as long as you need to." Manon looked up at him only to find the King staring at the made bed. "Abraxos too." When she didn't respond he straightened. "If you need a why…I know what you did…Aelin told me. You wrote on every wall in this city to send a message to her."

"I was paying a debt," the witch clarified.

"Still." They met eyes. "You saved my life."

So this was repayment.

She supposed she could live with that.

Abraxos lifted his head, turning his long neck toward the sky. Though she wished to stand to see, Manon kept her position, trusting the wyvern as he backed out and shifted his tail.

It was a friendly.

Something bloomed in her chest, especially as she spotted two small wyverns approaching in the distance. "Dorian." Those eyes widened and Manon paused when she noticed it was the first time she had called him by his name since his ascension as King. Pushing that away she signaled to the sky. "I need to stand."

He went to step next to her, following her gaze and spotting what she saw. "Okay, slowly."

She let him hook his arm around her waist, grinding her teeth at the flashes of pain where her skin pulled. The tonics had helped, but she could still barely move. As they limped outside, the camouflaged wyverns landed on the balcony edge, squawking at Abraxos while the twin witches on them dropped down. Faline had a hand against her chest, the biggest spark of emotion she had ever shown. "Manon!"

Letting go of Dorian and placing a hand on Abraxos' flank, Manon observed her witches, searching for wounds or signs of injury. "Speak," she ordered.

Fallon gave Dorian a look, but didn't hide anything as she opened her mouth. "We managed to calm the Matron for long enough to not kill us. She has Asterin in custody however and is planning to execute her publicly on the Black Moon three days from now for protecting you."

"She had us kicked from the mountain and has sent a search party out for you," Faline finished, her eyes taking in the bandages, the healing bruises. "They will not find you here though, the rain covered your tracks."

Manon payed no mind to their stares. What mattered was that Asterin was still alive. The relief was so strong, she felt lightheaded.

Determination filled her. "I will go-"

"Now wait, you can't. You're still hurt."

All three witches turned to Dorian, who stepped back at the intensity of their stares. Fallon though, turned to Manon, "he is right."

Gold eyes flashed and Manon bared her teeth. "What?"

Fallon glanced at her leg. "You must stay here; we will handle this for now. Sorrel has a plan."

Faline gave her a look that Manon couldn't bother herself to decipher. "You are safe with him, stay here. We will come for you when there is need of a new Matron."

The words left Manon halfway speechless. "You cannot expect me to remain-"

"You are useless to us right now, Manon," Fallon stated, her words short and to the point. "You cannot fight."

Manon lowered her iron teeth, growling as she said, "You shall recover Asterin and go immediately into hiding. There are covens who will side with us. Attacking now will end in all our deaths and no change will come of it. We must plan before we strike."

The twins turned to each other, before Faline nodded. "So be it." Fallon bowed and went to her wyvern. Faline made a move to follow, but her gaze went to Dorian. "Take care of her."

Manon's hiss was drowned out by his voice. "I will." Like she was some sort of child.

Fallon cleared her throat, catching her attention. "Heal first, then act." The white haired witch didn't answer as Faline followed her sister and within the next minute they were off, their wyverns almost invisible as they reached the clouds.

Manon's claws threatened to come out as she turned to Dorian. "I will claw open your chest and eat your heart raw the next time you speak on my behalf."

He gave her a look that spoke volumes on his opinion of how unlikely that was, making her feel incompetent, weak. "You can't even drink out of a cup without help, you think you have the strength to even hold me down long enough to rip out my heart?"

As she glared he stepped toward her, handing out his hand. "You have to heal, Manon, for Asterin, right?"

She breathed out, feeling the ache of her wounds and how tired she was. There was nothing she could do. Nothing to do **but** wait.

So she took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why, but I had some trouble writing this. Hopefully, it flows as naturally as I imagined it.
> 
> On the point of how Manon and Dorian start out a possible future relationship (friendly/allied/romantic or otherwise) I came up with this scenario. I tried to make it as believable as possible, even checking back on the book a few times to get small details right. I make quite a few foreshadowing references too ;]
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	8. Disobedience II

Asterin, Asterin, Asterin.

The name kept repeating in her head, her body, her entire being.

“Asterin.”

Manon’s voice was barely above a whisper as she clutched Wind Cleaver with her right hand. Going through the tunnels she had known so well, she struck down a Yellowlegs in her way, refusing to acknowledge the fact that her actions meant the agreement between the covens was now broken. The fallen King’s aerial cavalry gone before it took off.

If her grandmother didn’t want her dead already, she would want to slaughter her now. Perhaps tear her apart herself and nibble on her bones for added effect.

The plan to rescue Asterin had failed, but the Blackbeak Matron had not killed her, instead making it publicly known that she would offer her as a breeder to Perrington, knowing Manon would hear of it and come for the witch herself. It had been a good five days since her encounter with her grandmother, two days since the rescue attempt. Not a single one of her Thirteen could stop her from coming back to Morath. Not her wounds, not Sorrel, not even that stupid Prince turned King-whose insistence had caused her to snap at him.

“Manon.”

The former Wing Leader paused, narrowing her eyes as the Yellowlegs heir stood before her, no doubt sent to try and stop her. The smile on Iskra’s face was feral, promising a death so cruel Manon considered taking a step back. The only reason she was not enjoying this hunt herself was because Asterin was still missing. As if to add to her discomfort, her left arm throbbed, reminding her that she was still healing...slowly.

Sorrel growled behind her and she could feel Vesta and the twins tensing for a fight. Iskra sneered, revealing her iron teeth, some already stained with blue blood. Manon hoped that blood did not belong to any of her Thirteen or so the goddess help the brown-eyed heir. With a similar expression, she met the challenge with a tilt of her head and a flash of her own teeth.

“Move,” she commanded, catching as Iskra’s sentinels took their places behind her, “this conflict has nothing to do with you.”

The other witch chuckled, though it held nothing more than the heavy threat of violence. “You should have left. Exile is better than what awaits you here.”

Sorrel cracked her neck while Manon gripped Wing Cleaver. “Perrington slaughtered dozens in your covens,” Manon remarked, “you will stand for that?”

Iskra stepped forward, her grin still there. “You had no qualms killing Yellowlegs, why should I care for a coward of a Blackbeak?”

Iskra’s biggest sentinel sprang forward, catching Manon off guard and making her grunt as she blocked a hit. Sorrel was on it however, and as the Blackbeak moved to the side, the bulky witch tackled the sentinel.

Iskra laughed, especially as Vesta and the twins engaged in combat with the other Yellowlegs. “You knew there was no out from this.” She smiled. “Let’s settle this, just you and me.”

Manon growled. “So be it.”

They clashed in a battle that was closer to a dance than a death-match, each evading and striking in what a spectator would consider choreographed movements. Manon huffed as she realized they were evenly matched, trained from the same rules, forged by the same steel. With a lurch, she jumped back and slashed with Wind Cleaver, only for Iskra to block with her own set of twin blades.

Her left arm flared at the pressure and Manon knew she had to end this quickly, less the Yellowlegs notice.

A crash and Manon was thrown against the wall, her head knocking unto the stone with a heavy thud, her vision swimming as she registered the hands going for her throat. She tried sidestepping but Iskra was there, her smile a flash of steel as she kicked her right on her left leg.

An involuntary cry left Manon’s lips as she was forced on her knees. Her thigh burning as her feet went numb.

Iskra knew.

“Hurt are we?” She purred, as she went for Manon’s hair and pulled back. Between clenched teeth, they met eyes. “Stupid girl.”

Manon tackled her, Sorrel’s war cry from the other side of the room giving her the strength she needed to bring the Yellowlegs down. As the sentinel that had hit her against the wall was taken care of, Manon and Iskra fought for control on the floor, claws and teeth flashing. Despite her wounds, Manon managed to sling her right arm around Iskra’s neck, pulling back in an effort to snap it. Wind Cleaver lay discarded next to the wall.

But the other witch saw it coming and with a roar, she stood on her legs only to drop down on her back, crushing Manon underneath her. Two cracks could be heard within the commotion around them. Frustrated, furious, as if the Valg Kings’ themselves fueled her rage, Manon’s eyes focused enough for her to reach one of Iskra’s dagger’s-her fingers straining.

As she caught it, Iskra growled, punching her on the side. The cracks had been her ribs, Manon realized with a start. She had to stop Iskra, she had to just raise her hand-just a little push to-

Drive the blade right through Iskra’s jugular.

The Yellowlegs’ heir startled, gurgling as she went for her neck, trying to stop the blood flow.

Manon would have watched her die, watched the life dim from her eyes, had Vesta not gotten in the way. She was about to move her with a growl, her hand reaching out-

The world stopped.

Manon could feel herself lose a breath, could feel as though she was far from her body, no more a spectator than the gods themselves-watching a scene that could not happen. The blade going through Vesta nicked her own stomach. And she watched her loyal follower, a witch she grew up with, a Blackbeak, her friend-her **sister** -

There was a scream, of terror and fear and realization.

“Vesta!”

“There are more coming, we have to go!” Someone yelled, going for Manon’s arm. “We can’t stop! We have to go now!”

A large rumble followed the words and Manon turned to the sound, noticing how Iskra’s body was against the wall, her sentinels’ gone. “Vesta! Vesta!”

Sorrel was still clutching Manon’s arm as Faline went toward the red-headed witch. “Help me!” She yelled, silver lining her eyes.

Fallon was on it, going for the blade, gouging how bad the wound was. “We’re not safe here, we have to go,” Sorrel said, but her voice held no bite, her gaze dead and saddened.

“We take her,” Manon ordered as she sat up. The pain woke her up, and she grabbed unto Wind Cleaver with a blue stained hand. “I don’t care how, but we take her **now**.”

The twins looked at each other, muttering things, going over exactly what to do. “Ready?” One said.

“Three, two one-go!”

Vesta screamed as the blade was taken out and Fallon blocked the wounds, muttering things under her breath. A healing spell. Manon went to her side, watching intently, willing the spell to work, that nothing mayor had been hit.

Vesta coughed, “Manon.”

“Don’t speak, you’re going to be fine.”

“But-”

“You’ll be fine,” she told her, lowering her face.

Vesta groaned out as Faline joined in, her voice filling into step with her sister. “You,” the fallen witch muttered, her eyes fixed on the white haired witch, “are you okay?”

Silence and Manon’s heart ached, so badly she went for her chest. Rendered breathless, her head clouded, she mouthed a ‘what’ as Vesta’s bloody hand touched at her stomach-where there was a tear in her shirt. “Good,” she muttered, her red hair mixing in with the growing blue spot on the ground. “Good.”

Sorrell, who had been standing watch, turned to them. “We have a minute and then we need to leave.”

As if in answer, the mountain rumbled again, debris fell from the ceiling, dust coating the room. “The wound is good enough, it doesn’t seem like anything vital was hit.”

At the news Manon had to urge to sag, but her eyes went toward Ikra’s prone body, the Yellowleg’s mouth open in a silent scream product of the blood that had filled her lungs. “Manon,” Faline muttered.

When the witch turned to her, Sorrell breathed out. “We have to go back.”

The white haired witch sprang up, adrenaline turning the edges of her vision red. “No.”

“Vesta can’t keep going.”

“We have to take her to a healer.”

It was almost enough to make Manon pull her hair out. Almost enough to reconsider. “Faline-Fallon, take Vesta. Sorrell, with me.”

“We are going to die,” Sorrell said harshly, “we can’t risk this. We don’t even know where she is.” Another rumble, this one louder-closer.

“Then go with them.” Not waiting on Sorrell, Manon had just turned the corner out of the room when she forced herself into a stop. She had the urge to scream out in frustration.

“Oh, you’re alive.” Seven witches stood before her, all of them looking fresh and well rested, their weapons hot as they examined the Blackbeak.

“Petrah,” Manon said, keeping herself from growling.

The Blueblood heir tilted her head, her eyebrow rising as she took in the state Manon was in. “Some Yellowlegs told me you killed Iskra.” A cross of the arms. “Is that true?”

Sorrel was right.

They were going to die here.

“Manon?” Petrah asked, her lips rising at the edges. “Is it true you killed the Yellowlegs heir? You, a traitor not just to our covens and treaty, but to your own clan?”

“Kill me,” Manon bit, “if that’s what you’re here for then do it.”

Petrah observed her for a bit. “Why did your grandmother renounce you as heir?”

Sorrel was behind her, but Manon knew there was nothing they could do against the Bluebloods. “I disagreed.”

“On what?”

Manon wondered what the Blueblood would look like without a head. “Duke Perrington wanted more covens. Blackbeaks. I said no.”

“Why?”

Because it wasn’t right. Because they were not mares to be bred. Because it was torturous and painful. Because what they produced was darkness incarnate, an evil so foul, the Blackbeak heir found herself shuddering at the mere thought of its existence, of more being brought into the world by her own coven. “What they want, what _it_ wants,” she finally said, referring to the Duke. She shook her head. “I’d rather die than let him touch another one of us. I’d rather kill them myself then let that monster continue this madness.”

The rumbling became so loud, it was an effort to hear as Petrah said, “I see.”

Her sentinels moved and Manon tensed, waiting for the blow to come-but only found nothing of the sort, because between the Bluebloods, torn and bloody-

“Asterin!”

Manon sprang forward first despite the fact that Sorrel had spoken, catching her Second and falling back to keep her distance. Petrah stared right at her, eyes narrowing. “This war. It will change history.”

The Blackbeak stepped back further, holding unto Asterin. “It has already changed,” she said before signaling Sorrel and taking their leave, lest the Blueblood heir changed her mind.

Three rooms, two hallways and three flights of stairs later, Asterin moaned. “We are close,” Manon told her, hoisting her up despite the pain of her own wounds. “Just a little longer.” Petrah had stayed back and they had run into no more trouble on the way. Still, both Manon and Sorell glanced back intermittently, sniffing at the air nervously, feeling for enemies with the rest of their senses.

“You are a fool, you know that?” Asterin chided as she kept the pace, her face pale. “Your grandmother knew you’d come for me.”

“My grandmother can go fuck herself.”

Sorrel snorted out a laugh, and Asterin even let out a little breath, as if humored by it too. “The rumbling?”

Sorrel answered, looking around a corner for enemies before turning back to Asterin. “Terrasen. It was the only way to get to you.” It was a dangerous distraction, but the only way to infiltrate so deep into Morath.

“They are on our side?”

Manon and Sorrell turned to each other. “Only if Adarlan intervenes,” Sorrell finally said as they arrived at yet another staircase.

“Adarlan?”

The Third glanced at Manon, who took her time in answering, counting as they went up the stairs. “Their new King predictably disapproves of Morath.” But there had been no promises made to intervene or even search for some sort of diplomacy. If anything, Adarlan had allowed Terrasen to invade, preferring to keep out of the Queen’s way as she purged the land with fire.

Fire she would use against the Thirteen if it came down to it.

“One more hallway,” Sorrel said, the ground shaking enough for them to be mindful of their footing.

Manon swallowed down blood, thinking of how close they were. Only six covens had agreed to leave the aerial cavalry, all Blackbeaks. But six would have to do, she reminded herself. “When we get to the top, we leave. For good.” And she meant it. She had no interest in how this war would pan out, or who would win. It had all been a mistake, and as it was even with their mounts, their lands were still not theirs. And now there were less and less of them. It would only get harder to take back the old Ironteeth homes, especially now.

Fighting could be heard outside and the witches kept themselves in the shadows as they arrived at an iron door. Sorrell opened it quietly despite the fact that no one would be able to hear with all the noise. Screams and yells, swords and shields bashing against one another, the odd swishing sound of magic.

Wyvern cries.

“Quickly!”

They made their way through the edge of the fortress, toward the barren trees. Kaya and Lin were there, hiding like shadows amongst the branches, dropping down when the trio arrived. “We have trouble,” Kaya told them, her voice like steel.

“What is it.”

She turned to Manon. “Fae.”

Perhaps all this struggling was for nothing. Valg, Terrasen soldiers, Yellowlegs, a fire breathing Queen and now this? “Where and how many?”

They hurried their pace. Manon letting the lovers take Asterin between them. “A few only, but they are powerful.”

“I saw one take out five witches _and_ their wyverns in one blow,” the other said.

Sorrel cursed, looking back as if she could see the enemy. “We’ll have to be very lucky.” Manon internally shook her head. Luck was but a luxury now. If anything, they had to be smart.

Manon glanced at Asterin, at how her Second could barely keep her eyes open. She turned to Sorrel who had wounds on every strip of exposed skin. She thought of Vesta and the twins. “If you spot Fae,” she glowered as they kept their heads low. “You run and do not look back.”

Together they broke into a clearing. A few of the wyverns cried out, but were shushed promptly. It wouldn’t have mattered.

A wind so harsh it blew back two trees on the outskirts of the clearing, swept over them, pushing back at the witches and making the wyverns screech. Manon recognized that wind, had seen it but once before. “Get on the wyverns, go!” She ordered, running after Sorrel, toward Abraxos.

“Strap it in!” She heard Ghislaine shout, just as soldiers began filing in.

“Terrasen,” Lin muttered, baring her teeth at those closest. Screams filled the air as the coven on the far end engaged in combat, the wind taking out witches like they were no more than flies.

Already, Blackbeaks were on their wyverns, handfuls of them taking to the air and avoiding arrows. The Thirteen remained, waiting for the rest. “Flank right!” Manon ordered, as they finally reached their wyverns, Abraxos roaring when she neared him.

Edda and Briar took on the few soldiers that reached them, taking them out as they went, keeping the others at bay. “Hurry!” Thea barked, while Manon helped strap Asterin in behind Sorrel, Asterin’s own wyvern crying out at her rider. Vesta had been placed in with Imogen, who was ready to go.

“Take off! Take off now!”

The twins and Imogen flew off, their wyverns avoiding arrows and spears expertly, flying up like demons were following them. “Sorrel,” Manon gasped, her lungs burning at the exertion. “Go with Asterin! Go!”

“Get on your wyvern!” She yelled back, but as an arrow flew too close to her wyvern’s left wing, she sprang up, roaring as they flew into the air.

Manon turned back with the intent of leaving, but hesitated as she caught Edda stumbling. Blowing a whistle, Manon stretched out her hand as she gripped Wind Cleaver, hoping unto her wyvern’s back and smashing into a group of soldiers. “Fall back!” She told her witches, watching as Briar speared through two soldiers.

Thea, Kaya and Ghislaine took off, while Lin sent forth arrow after arrow, allowing for Edda to get on her bull. Manon dropped down as Edda flew, and even when the witch’s wyvern cried out in pain at being hit she knew not to look. Using Wind Cleaver, Manon smashed into a soldier as she dodged a hit to the gut. Briar was next to her in a heartbeat, both backing away as more soldiers poured in. Valg had appeared out of the shadows and Lin had been separated from them.

Another roar as Abraxos broke past more men, his large paws smashing through armor and skin. “Lin!”

Wind blew around them again, though it had been sent to the air, towards a group of three wyverns. Magic, that wind was magic so powerful it made Manon’s bones loosen. Lin fired three more shots before they reached her. “We need to head for the trees!” Manon told her as Briar decapitated a Valg soldier. Lin’s wyvern burst through a shield with her tail.

“Go!” Briar yelled.

Wind smashed into them, sending Abraxos and Lin’s wyverns screeching away, their wings getting caught in the gust. Manon grunted as she fell on her back, Lin and Briar close by. There was a sickening crack and the Blackbeak could only watch as Briar’s bull was literally snapped in two, his neck going limp on the ground after an agonizing wail.

Even though Briar groaned out his name, the witch held her ground next to Manon. But there was no time for running. Barely any time left to fight.

It had been a while since Manon had last seen the Queen, but the strong gaze and powerful posture said it all, those curious blue-gold eyes staring at the battlefield with dark calculation. Beside her, decked in the same colored armor stood the Fae warrior. Rowan, the one with the wind magic. The one that took down Briar’s wyvern.

The fights around them seemed to fade into the background as they were circled, the two wyverns growling at the fixed spears, the cocked-bows. Manon stood up, dusting off her cloak as the Queen observed her. To the left, the cousin, Aedion snarled. “Why do you run?” He asked, “cowards!”

“When I say so, we will break through to the back and drop from the edge,” Manon whispered, hoping that Aelin would hesitate for long enough to at least warrant an attempt to escape.

“Even if the wyverns’ catch us, the wind will tear us apart,” Briar told her, flashing her teeth at the soldiers.

Manon glanced at Abraxos taking in his stare, his trust. “We will split off and one of the wyverns will fall.”

Briar nodded and Lin raised her bow, making a suspicious looking snow leopard stop in its tracks. “I’ll do it. The Blackbeaks are broken and we need a new Matron.” Manon turned to Briar who was set in her words. Who was willing to sacrifice herself for the coven-for Manon.

This wasn’t what the former heir had wanted. To come to Morath with the plan of escaping, to take with her as many witches as she could. To kill Perrington and her grandmother. That had been her goal, her mission. Instead, barely a few escaped, most of her Thirteen were injured. “On my command.”

The two witches nodded, both turned to the Queen, the Fae, the warriors. There were so many. There would barely be any time to break for the edge of the precipice. Manon breathed in…

“Now.”

They sprung for their left, the wyverns screeching as they burst through in front of them. Manon slashed at two soldiers on her right as Lin landed a blow on another’s head. A lot of yelling ensued and Manon stole a glance to see Rowan run straight toward them-toward Lin, the closest.

“Abraxos!”

Her wyvern turned just in time to stop a sword on her flank as she turned. Growling, Manon threw Wind Cleaver, but her ribs barked out…and she missed.

Lin had noticed however, and she swiftly backed away as Rowan smashed into the ground before her. What was surprising was not that he stopped chasing Lin, even when he had a clear shot at her-it was the intensity with which he turned that focus-that rage-to Manon, pushing through soldiers as he headed right for her.

Abraxos roared, but he had been separated from her.

Wind Cleaver lay on the ground far away.

For some reason, Manon felt each and every wound, every bruise on her body. She could not stop him, she realized. There was nothing else she could do. Aware of what was happening, Lin screamed at her to **move** , to do _something_!

Rowan slammed into her with a force so strong she passed out for a few seconds.

Consciousness brought her back, stars dancing at the edge of her vision as hands wrapped around her throat, cutting the airflow and pressing her against the ground. Though she had no energy, Manon still grabbed unto his arms, digging her claws into his flesh, staring into the warrior’s eyes as he literally squeezed the life out of her.

“Repayment,” he said simply as she unconsciously gasped for air that didn’t come.

Someone screamed her name again, but her eyes were on Rowan. If he was to kill her then he would remember her face, her eyes. The fury coursing through her. Let him kill her for trying to kill his mate, let him kill her thinking he had protected his own. Just as she had been trying to do.

She gave Lin and Briar a quick apology in her head for not being able to get them to safety as her grip lessened, the claws retracting. Her teeth pulled back into their sockets.

Rowan growled, tasting victory no doubt.

A cool breeze spread through her.

Who knew, Manon thought, that death would feel so cold.

“…!”

“…on!”

What?

“…non!”

…

“Manon!”

“C’mon, breathe!”

A hacking cough spread through the witch as her body gasped for air in uncontrollable bursts. “Good, good,” someone said, as she grabbed at her chest. “Deep breaths.”

She recognized that voice.

Beside Lin and Briar, with Rowan nowhere to be found there was a third person. If his scent wasn’t testament enough, that annoying face was all the information she needed. Manon frowned in confusion. “Dorian?”

The King smiled at her, brushing back at the hair on her face. “Sorry I was late. I figured I had to do something when I realized Aelin didn’t know about your plan.”

For some absurd reason, Manon wanted to laugh. She was so sore it was a chore just to keep his gaze. She swallowed back dirt and blood. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice horse.

His smile remained, though it wasn’t quite so full-or relieved. “I know what I said,” he told her, referring to his reluctance of taking action on Morath. “I’m sorry, I should have acted. If I am to be King, I have to make tough decisions.”

Manon lowered her head on the ground, noticing how the Terrasen Queen observed from afar. Her face showed a myriad of things-surprise, wonder, curiosity, but most of all…acceptance. They were enemies no longer, it seemed.

With a huff, the Blackbeak grabbed the princeling by the shirt, dragging him down toward her, though she was sure he let himself be moved. She stared right at him, her voice serious. “Do not expect me to thank you for this.” His timing had been completely off, she had lost witches and wyverns, almost lost her own life. She had no way to know if her Thirteen were safe either.

Blinking, the young King nodded. “I don’t expect your thanks so don’t worry.” She let him go and carefully watched as Dorian Havilliard, King of Adarlan, bearer of ice magic, stood up. He seemed to make sure everyone around them was watching as he looked her right in the eye…and bowed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	9. Sorrin (Yellow Dress II)

Five-year-old Sorrin smiled to herself as she deftly hid behind the large silk layered couch in the anteroom joining her bedroom with her parent’s large set of rooms. It was early morning, the sun still not fully up while she had sneaked past her usual caretaker’s door in favor of finding a certain Captain of Adarlan’s aerial cavalry.

She spotted her mother’s red cloak near the fireplace, placed upon the lounge chair like she didn’t care that it covered the handmade pattern underneath. In truth, her mother wasn’t very fond of luxury and would prefer attire that was comfortable and easy to fight with over dresses and jewelry, something the young witchling tried to emulate when she could. Looking behind her to make sure no servants came into the room, Sorrin tiptoed across the tilled floor to hide behind the same lounge chair she had been eyeing. Though there was still no sign of her mother, the girl knew better than to show herself, keeping her head low to the ground and her body in a crouch.

Even when she should’ve been concentrating on her stealth, the little witchling couldn’t help but reach up and stroke the soft fabric of her mother’s crimson cloak, watching how the light from the fire contrasted prettily against the material. She had once asked her mother for a similar wear to which she had been pointedly denied, saying that if she wanted one she had to get it herself. Sorrin had not been surprised since most of her mother’s answers warranted independence and whenever the little girl needed something she would first try to get it on her own. It was what was expected and she didn’t want to disappoint.

Dropping her hand, Sorrin slowly stepped toward the open doorway of her parents’ main bedroom, tilting her head to look inside, careful not to touch the door less she accidentally move it. It was rare for her parent’s to both be in the castle at once. Usually the King would stay with the little girl while her mother would be out and about, a free spirit, ‘untamed and wild’ her father would say with a smile.

Her own widened.

Today was different. Her mother was asleep, while her father was out visiting the neighboring kingdom. The only thing visible under the sheets on the large bed was the lovely strands of white hair slipping out from the very top and over the side. Still, Sorrin took her time, knowing that any sound would wake the witch. Like her aunt Asterin taught her, Sorrin glided over the carpet, knowing that it was the quietest way to get to the bed.

When she was close enough to touch the sheets, she held her breath, glancing at the sleeping figure, noting the soft movement of the sheets, the even breathing. A look back to the door to make sure no one else was there.

Perfect.

With a shout of glee, Sorrin jumped into the air and unto the bed, slamming into her mother’s body with all her weight, laughing at the ensuing grunt.

“Good morning, mama!” She yelled, her peals of laughter bouncing off the walls of the room at the responding growl and grinning with a missing tooth at the glare sent her way.

“The sun is barely up,” came the gruff reply, “go back to bed.”

But Sorrin only climbed higher, pushing back at the sheets. “But I _am_ in bed,” she giggled as she straddled her mother, feeling as triumphant as she looked in her pale blue nightgown.

“Sorrin.”

The smile didn’t falter. “Mama.”

There was a few seconds of silence as gold eyes met an identical pair of gold. Manon raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowed in a squint. “Do not act so prideful. You failed. You shouldn’t have touched my cloak, I heard the fabric move.”

“What? No you didn’t!” She had been _so_ quiet! How could her mother have heard her from all the way over here?!

“If you’d pay attention in your lessons you would have known not to touch anything.”

Sorrin groaned dramatically, throwing herself on the spot next to Manon, staring at the complicated designs on the high ceiling, her eyes following the pair of wyverns flying with their tails tangled together despite them looking in opposite directions. “I was _so_ quiet,” she whispered harshly, covering her face in frustration. “You’re too good, it’s not fair.”

Manon huffed as she turned on her side. “Nothing in life is fair.” When Sorrin pouted, Manon patted her head. “Get used to it.” When the girl kept quiet, Manon spoke again. “Now, go back to bed.”

The pout remained, in fact, it became more pronounced in a way reminiscent of a certain King. “Papa isn’t here. Can I stay with you?”

“You have your own bed.”

“But-”

“When I was a child, I had to sleep-”

“On old hay or cold stone, yes I _know_ ,” Sorrin said, exasperated. “And you had no mama, or papa, or food, or aunties, or friends, or Abraxos…” As she trailed off, she caught the observant look on her mother’s face. “But,” she bit out, her trademark smile returning, “you have me now! So how about I pretend to be your mama for today and we can sleep together!”

Before Manon could speak, Sorrin had already leaned forward to hug her, burying her face in her mother’s neck, her small hands fisting around her hair. For a second it seemed like Manon would push her off, but Sorrin smirked, letting out a pleased sound when she felt the sheets being placed around her, giggling again when her mother’s hands followed.

“Just for today then,” Manon muttered into her daughter’s dark locks, letting her get as close as she wanted, hiding a smile when the girl patted her lower back. Sorrin knew that those words held no truth, for the very next day she did the exact same thing only to have it end in the exact same way.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	10. Choice

“Don’t go yet.”

Manon blinked at the hand on her arm. It was past midnight already and she was starting to notice a pattern where she would leave later and later. Not willing to dwell on that she faced Dorian who was still laying under the sheets, his bare chest peeking through the linens. She didn’t speak, but he caught her expression. “Stay the night,” he told her, his voice low and deep.

The witch frowned. “Why?”

Dorian’s hand lowered, toward her wrist. His hand was warm. “It’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” He understood what she meant by that. They bedded each other more than a few times within the past few hours. She would think he’d be tired of **her** at this point. It certainly happened to her every time she mated someone before. But she’d never been with someone more than once. Less of all this consistently.

“Are you?”

Manon considered it. She supposed she was growing rather…used to him at this point rather than tiring. “Hey.” When they met eyes he smiled and her eyes narrowed at the spark of…something. “Just for tonight?” Since she turned away he huffed. “You know, some people would kill for a chance to sleep next to me.”

His tone was teasing but Manon was acutely aware of his popularity among human females, specifically among other royals and the rich. Dorian had allure because he was King, but she could tell women in general (and even men in some cases) were interested in more than just his money and influence. She felt a hand slide over her waist, while the other moved her hair out of the way.

Foreplay had never been big with her earlier lovers so having him lick at her neck was an odd sensation. Not entirely unpleasant, but certainly a surprise. “Lie back down,” he told her, his hand pulling her back.

The Blackbeak could not believe she was actually considering it. She had never slept next to someone she had bedded before. That act was reserved for her Thirteen and on some occasions, Abraxos. “Do you tend to do this?” He knew what she was referring too. Did he sleep next to his lovers?

His motions stopped and she felt him looking at her face. “To be honest, not really. I only ever started thinking of being more serious after the compe-” He stopped himself and she caught him shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Dorian moved away. “If you want to go then go, it’s not right of me to want you to stay.”

Want? Manon wondered. He **wanted** her to stay?

Her Thirteen already knew of her little trips to the glass wall. She could already see Asterin’s little smile if she arrived in the morning. Could already feel Sorrel’s curious looks and maybe even a question or two from Vesta. Staying would start to mean something to them. Something that Manon wasn’t sure she was particularly ready to confront since she wasn’t sure herself of what she wanted when it came to this broken King. As always, he was a puzzle she was reluctant to solve.

Either way, he was only seeking comfort from someone who understood. They would tire of each other soon.

“Do not confuse what we have for affection,” she warned. Dorian’s face was stiff, his sapphire eyes wide. “We are nothing.”

The King tilted his head and for a second she thought she saw hurt flash over his features. “Is that what you think?” When she raised an eyebrow he slid forward. “Tell me,” he whispered as he got close, daring her to move away as he glanced at her lips. “Are we really _nothing_?”

She fought the chill that went down her spine flawlessly. “What do you think we are?” She muttered, her tone matching his, her lids lowering.

The little princeling disapproved of her response, perhaps thinking he would have a different effect on her. He leaned back, but maintained a distance that was intimate. Dorian was not afraid of her. She thought he never had.

A foolish, irrational King-that was all he was to her. Foolish to trust an Ironteeth witch. Foolish to dare to bed her. Foolish to ask her to stay the night.

It would be so easy for her to kill him at this point.

“I might want something for us,” he admitted after a long silence.

What?

**_What?_ **

That was enough.

Manon stood up and went for her clothes, dressing quickly and effectively. She heard him sigh. It sounded like disappointment. Fire coursed through her. Why was he like this? She could never understand him. The witch didn’t know what she was more annoyed at. The fact that she could never figure him out or that she even wasted her time for long enough to try.

“I’m leaving east tomorrow,” Dorian said.

She fought the urge to pull out her hair. “So?”

“There’s a note already in Abraxos’ saddle with the address of where I’ll be.” Because she was stationed east, because even when the brainless mutt had business he wanted to see her. Staying quiet, Manon looked at her cloak. “I’ll arrive in three days.”

Sensing him approach, the Blackbeak turned to him. He was bare, but she knew he didn’t mind. Burying the thoughts of how attractive he was, Manon crossed her arms. “Do I look like a whore you can call at your leisure?”

Dorian smirked as he stepped in front of her. “Do you want me to pay you?” Her teeth snapped down and she growled. The first time in the night, she realized. It seemed that with him, her violent tendencies were subdued. Another thing to be wary off. “It’s your choice,” he told her, tilting his head in that stupid way she knew he did on purpose. “It has always been your choice.”

Her teeth retracted slowly and Manon reached around him for her cloak, draped unto one of the padded chairs. But he stopped her, placing his body in the way, going for her face. She was shocked for long enough to let him tilt it up, meeting their lips.

She could count the times she had kissed someone on one hand. Despite the fact that they bedded each other regularly for the past month, they had not kissed once. The times she _had_ kissed before were no more than distractions, using her beauty as a weapon to get close to a male and even on one occasion a female. Death would usually follow. Despite that…

For witches, kisses were sacred, emotional things. Things to be avoided, her grandmother had told her.

Dorian moved back, probably due to her lack of reaction.

“Manon?”

She had told him they were nothing and he does this?

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the witch said.

Dorian seemed to realize he’d made a mistake. “Is it a bad thing to do? Did I break a rule?” His concern was sincere. “Do witches not kiss?”

“No,” a pause, “we don’t.”

“Why not?”

Manon swallowed. The only reason Blackbeaks didn’t kiss was because it was a way to show emotion. Her grandmother had told her again and again how they were born heartless. Kissing could only be used as a means to destroy, to control.

Never to show affection.

Manon stepped back, her cloak in her hands. She had to go, right now. There was no time for Dorian to react as she burst through the balcony doors, Abraxos already on his way. She didn’t let the wyvern land before she launched herself unto him. Dorian ran after her, still naked, still an idiot.

He yelled out her name, but Manon paid no mind as Abraxos flew into the sky.

…

“Asterin.”

The blonde almost dropped out of her bed, going for her weapons as Manon entered the room. “What is it, who’s attacking?”

Pausing, Manon realized what she had done. Bursting into her Second’s room in the middle of the night like a madwoman. Interrupting the much needed rest for something that didn’t need attention.

Stupid, stupid princeling.

“Manon?” Asterin had placed down the weapons and rubbed at her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, the Wing Leader stepped back. “Nothing, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

The other witch bit back a yawn. “Is this about Dorian?” When they met eyes, Asterin actually smiled. Her Second leaned back against the headboard. “What did he do?”

It didn’t bother Manon that Asterin knew it had to do with Dorian, what bothered her was the smugness in her tone, the cheeky grin on her lips. Like she was talking to a child who’d just realized something obvious. Fighting back all the instincts in her body, the witch just came out with the truth. “He kissed me.”

Surprise crossed Asterin’s features. “He did?!” She seemed to control her tone of voice with a clear of her throat. “And he’s still alive?” It felt like a punch to the face. “Did you like it?”

Like it?

**Like it?**

“What?”

Asterin chuckled as she stood. “Give it time. Perhaps it means something.”

“We are nothing,” Manon heard herself say, but her head was a storm, her thoughts unfinished and messy.

“Would it be bad if you _were_ something?”

Manon couldn’t be sure. She was a murdering, blood-drinking, ironteeth witch with no heart. Why would a King want to have something with a witch beyond carnal desires? Dorian had to be insane. The Valg had destroyed any semblance of common sense within him. That was the only reason he would seek out a monster.

There was no other explanation.

“It would be nice,” Asterin mumbled, her eyes downcast, “if there were a Witch Queen.”

Manon could feel that nonexistent heart take a leap.

**_Queen?_ **

“Nicer still…if _you_ were that Queen.” Breathing was becoming difficult. “It would make us more powerful.”

The way she said it was a tell. Asterin had thought this over before, perhaps spoken about it with Sorrel or Vesta, or the whole of the Thirteen for that matter. They had all been very open with letting her go to the King alone, even going so far as to encourage-

“Do you think you can manipulate-”

“It’s your choice,” Asterin cut in, her eyes flashing. “It has always been your choice.” She stepped forward. “You know we will not question a single one of your actions when it comes to who you spend your nights with. But we cannot ignore the fact that if he loves you and you marry him, the power that the Blackbeaks would gain would be monumental. With Adarlan, taking back the Wastes would only be the first step. We could conquer kingdoms, make the Chrochans and the other Ironteeth clans have no choice but to bow before us.”

They had spoken to each other about it, there was no doubt. But it was something she would have done too, if one of her Thirteen would visit a King so often. It was so obvious she was appalled that this possibility had never even crossed her mind. Even still, it was close to impossible to imagine. Harder still to think about. “You think he is in love with me?” She asked quietly, slowly, her voice a sliver of steel.

Asterin shrugged. “Perhaps. Your beauty alone could be to blame, but he seems to like you.” There was an underlying message there, a ‘you seem to like him too’ that neither chose to acknowledge. “Tell me,” Asterin added, “if he were not King, would you still see him?”

Being King had nothing to do with it-Manon stopped herself right there. Changing the subject she said, “he is coming East.”

Her Second’s lips twitched. “Does he want to see you?” The white-haired witch’s silence was answer enough. “Ultimately, whatever you choose to do with him, it’s all on you. I will admit that the Thirteen have spoken on the future possibilities of your…relationship-with the King, but it is all speculation. We would never force you into anything.”

Manon was aware of that even when her thoughts were elsewhere. There was so much to think about now, so much to consider. “I liked it,” she admitted with a dark tone, like she was delivering the news of a death.

“Liked what?”

A breath.

“The kiss.”

Asterin smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	11. The Ball (Choice II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some sexual scenes, nothing too drastic

“A ball?” Manon asked.

Dorian nodded.

“You wish for me to go to a ball with you?”

The King smiled hesitantly. “Yes.”

There was a pause, and then…

“Hmm, I feared this day would come.” When Dorian blinked in confusion and, dare he hope, excitement, she added. “The day you would finally lose your mind.”

Dorian’s face fell and the witch actually hesitated. She covered her tracks well especially when he didn’t notice. “Reconsider, please.”

Her expression didn’t change. “You would take an Ironteeth witch to a ball?” Manon crossed her arms. “Imagine the message that would send.”

The King smiled a little, like he knew a secret. “Is it that you don’t want people to know about this? About us?”

She tilted her head, her white hair shifting in the light. “Us?” She repeated quietly, curiously.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to match her own. “Do you truly believe people do not notice a wyvern suspiciously parked on the courtyard throughout the night? Rumors spread.”

She actually had to hold back a smile. “How does that prove anything?”

Dorian glanced to his left, where two of his guards were standing by. Only four knew of her well enough to keep their distance when she was around Dorian. These specific two were the ones that had been outside Dorian’s door the night she had arrived from Morath, bleeding and unconscious. “You are not exactly…inconspicuous.”

A smirk. “Inconspicuous?”

“When you’re here, you…show.” She gave him a look. “Are you aware of how beautiful you are? Truly?”

The witch’s chin lifted. “A compliment? Impressive, given we are not in bed and you are not on your knees.”

She could have sworn one of the guards _coughed_. They knew about that too so there was no point in keeping it a secret. Dorian didn’t notice the slip or chose to ignore it. “Come to the ball with me,” he repeated.

“No.”

He was disappointed and Manon tried not to think of how guilt crept up from the base of her neck. “It’s a small one. No guests from outside the city will be coming.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to sit next to me. I will not be on a throne or wearing my crown.”

“No.”

“We don’t have to dance, or even mingle. Honestly we could just be at the edge of the room-”

“Dorian, no.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“It would be a real shame if someone as beautiful as you would consciously refuse to go to a ball. Especially with a partner as handsome as the King, child.”

The duo turned to the voice and Manon glared at the older woman. “If either of us is a child it would be you-”

“Philippa? I thought you were still with Aelin,” Dorian cut in, even stepping half in front of Manon as if to protect the maid.

The woman smiled as she bowed. “Your Majesty, I am planning to return to Aelin soon, but I had some business to take care of beforehand. If anything, perhaps I can find your companion an appropriate dress to wear to your celebratory ball.”

“I would rather rot in a maggot infested hole than-”

“Manon would appreciate that, wouldn’t you, love?”

Love?

At her hesitation, Dorian gave a wolfish grin, taking Manon’s arm and handing her over to Philippa, who was already assessing the witch. “Gold,” the woman muttered, “gold would look nice, to match those eyes.”

“The ball begins at seven,” the King said.

“I will have her ready by then.”

“Dorian,” she was shaking her head, caught off guard. It’s true they had agreed on…somethings, but a ball?

His smile remained as he took his place in front of her. “It will be fine. It’s a simple event.” As Philippa took her arm and frowned when she didn’t budge Dorian took a step forward, even going so far as to place a hand on her waist. The first time he initiated physical contact with people around. “Please, for me, just this once. Because of what we talked about, remember?”

He was referring to what they spoke about only the week before, when he traveled East to where she was stationed at. Their talk lasted hours, deep into the night.

Manon seemed to think about it, her manicured eyebrows coming together.

And then she said something that made him stop.

“I’ve never worn a dress.”

As Dorian stared at her in a new light, Philippa let out a little breath. “Well, first time for everything, come now.”

“Hey,” Dorian called as Manon wearily followed Philippa. “It’s your choice. I’ll understand, if you don’t go.”

The witch looked back at him for a moment. And then she nodded.

…

Manon huffed in discontent as she looked over the side of a pillar overlooking the ball that was going on that evening in the castle. She had refused to be presented like the humans were, preferring to enter at her leisure and without drawing attention. Her dress was nice, even she could admit it. Most importantly, it did not restrict her movements, she was still the weapon she had been forged to be. Philippa was good when it came to combining colors and the silver and gold sleeveless dress fit well with the silver circlet surrounding her forehead. The dress’ neckline was a little low, but Manon wasn’t particularly concerned with showing skin. The gold arm cuffs on both her upper arms were the only jewelry other than the one on her forehead she allowed. Manon did not like necklaces as those could easily be used to strangle.

Someone approached from the side and the witch deftly moved around the pillar, avoiding any chance of interaction. She could see Dorian among the growing guests, looking rather Kingly in blue and gold. They matched, she thought wryly, wondering if he was the one who chose the dress for her or if Philippa had asked him what he would wear beforehand.

The Blackbeak looked toward the way she came in, heavily considering leaving the room. She knew what her presence there could mean to these guests. How Dorian would immediately come and greet her.

Asterin’s words all those nights before came to mind.

A Witch Queen.

Manon did not want to be Queen. For truth, she wasn’t sure she wished to mean something to Dorian-or him to her-despite their talk. Connections were a weakness and though his magic gave him power, she knew her enemies would come for him- **not** that she was considering it. She loathed the mere thought of being confined to a castle to host parties like these, to bear children and learn to sew or sing or something equally ridiculous. She was a warrior, someone who thrived in battle, not a doll to be put on display. She felt that the title of Queen would be synonymous to ‘cage’ really.

Dorian, however, was born and bred to be a King. She could see it in the way he spoke to his guests, the way he smiled and chuckled, the way the royal ladies hounded him like hungry dogs. She knew most would go to extreme lengths to have a chance at being Queen…Manon had the sudden urge to growl as one such pretty young human woman touched over Dorian’s chest, trailing her manicured fingers toward his waist.      

The fool merely smiled and for a second Manon wondered if he fancied her, but she realized his movements were calculated and distracting. Removing the woman’s hand in a way she wouldn’t notice, keeping her at a respectable distance with words and sly grins. Tricking her into thinking he liked her.

“Woah-um, hello.”

Manon turned slowly to the sound of the voice, her eyes taking in the guard uniform, the young face, the visible weapons. The man was human, plainly handsome, and his eyes held a shock she had seen before-though not to this extent. She almost felt uncomfortable-almost. She remained silent, watching him watch her.

“My name is Evian,” he said, daring to step forward. Manon didn’t react. “Forgive me, but you are-” he breathed out as if he couldn’t explain. Humans were so superficial it was marginally disgusting. She could already see herself luring this man to a quiet little spot in the servant’s quarter and emptying out his blood supply in a moment’s notice. She would make sure there were no sounds and no witnesses. Dumping the body would be child’s play in such a huge castle.

“I’ve never seen someone so beautiful,” Evian muttered, his eyes glazing over.

“I would agree,” a new voice joined in. Manon internally groaned while outside she kept herself composed. Dorian was staring at her, an unreadable look on his face despite his smile. “You actually came.”

An idiot. That was what she was. A manipulated fool. 

Most were staring their way now, to this little corner in the large room. Dorian either didn’t care or didn’t mind, especially as he inclined his head and went for her hand. “Manon.”

The witch discreetly glanced around, taking in the shocked looks and the open mouths. One girl looked close to crying, an older man muttered a ‘is that not the Blackbeak Matron?’ to another.

Manon took her hand back before Dorian could kiss it, her mind going back to another kiss in another room. The little princeling didn’t seem to mind, instead stepping close enough she could smell him. She could see the guard from before retreating, knowing his place. “You look stunning.”

Manon didn’t even blink as she said, “I know.” She wouldn’t comment on him despite the fact that the attire looked quite nice on him, the gold sparkling.

He chuckled a little. “Would my lady honor me with a drink?”

 _Honor me_.

Words of respect, despite the fact that her rank as Matron and Wing Leader meant nothing to these humans. Most appeared scandalized at this point, but she could see the wheels turning in their heads. Shifting between rumors and what was now fact. When Manon looked back at Dorian he raised an eyebrow and she knew he wouldn’t be angered if she refused.

“Fine,” she said, signaling forward with a tilt of her head.

The King’s smile returned full force. He was pleased, perhaps even giddy, as they walked to the open bar set up on the east side of the ballroom. “Thank you for coming.” He looked her over. “It’s refreshing. You actually don’t look like you’re about to go on a murdering spree for once.”

Manon’s hand twitched, her fingers itching as she held back her claws. “You look like the spoiled brat the rumors describe you as.” Even presently, there was talk of Dorian slowly regaining his old reputation. Though Manon was aware of his act. If anything, it would be better than the truth. Of the reality that was this broken Prince turned King.

He was staring and she narrowed her eyes marginally. “What?” She asked, though her tone was clipped, annoyed.

Dorian inched closer, enough to spread rumors. His voice was low though, so only she could hear. “You look like a Queen.”

A dog. That was what he was. A dog smitten by the first pretty thing he lay eyes on. Controlling her breathing, her nerves, Manon stared right into those sapphire eyes. “Do not forget what I am,” she muttered. “It is far from a Queen.”

Dorian twitched though he tried to hide it by clearing his throat. What did he want? She wondered. What was going through his troubled mind? “We have quite the assortment of drinks, what would you like?” Good, he was changing the subject.

Humoring him, she turned to the bartender, who was staring at them with wide eyes. She watched as sweat formed on his brow. “I don’t drink.”

Dorian inclined his head in acceptance before he asked for wine. It seemed the tense silence around them finally broke, people coming back to their senses as conversations began again, albeit subdued. Soft music came from the stage at the end of the room. As she turned to watch the way the musicians played, a familiar scent arose.

She was tempted to smile as Chaol Westfall, Dorian’s right-hand man, stepped toward them. He was wearing quite the outfit, a variation of Nesryn Faliq’s Captain of the Royal Guard uniform. “Your highness,” he said as he bowed low, though the moment he went back up his eyes locked on her and remained there.

Blatantly ignoring the distrust, the King raised his glass. “Chaol, you made it.”

“I said I would,” he bit, giving Manon a warning glance before facing Dorian.

“Though you both know each other, I wish to do some formal introductions.” He stepped close to her, enough that Chaol stiffened more than he already was, his right arm itching toward the ornate sword on his side. “Chaol, this is Manon Blackbeak, Matron and Wing Leader. Manon this is Chaol Westfall, my right-hand man and personal adviser.”

Enjoying the former Captain’s uneasiness, Manon smiled in a way that caused quite a few to turn and stare. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Adviser. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Chaol hid his scowl expertly, but her eyes caught the way his neck muscles tightened. He would definitely be more of a challenge to take out than the young guard from before. She liked when they fought back. “The pleasure is mine,” he still said and she commended him for keeping his cool. He did not bow however, and she didn’t ask him to.

Dorian cleared his throat. “Is Faliq back from the border?”

Chaol made sure Dorian knew exactly how dangerous he thought Manon was with the way his eyes narrowed on her before turning to his King. “She and her guard are a day’s ride out. If the weather is favorable, then they will arrive sometime tomorrow.”

Dorian nodded. “Good, as always, I expect a report.”

“Of course.”

Enjoying herself, she reached for Dorian’s arm just to see how Chaol would react. “Mayhap you should ask your Adviser for a drink?”

When Dorian faced her the former Captain’s expression changed. He was weary and confused, but most of all…angry. Perhaps the rumors hadn’t reached his ears, or maybe he thought Dorian smarter than that. Maybe it was just now that he was realizing a witch was next to the King at a ball thrown in his honor. That the King had deliberately chosen to stand next to her. That he asked her for a drink. That they matched.

“You’re right,” Dorian said with that pristine grin of his. “Chaol, would you like something?”

“Could we talk? The Captain has a message for you.” His lie was so obvious even Dorian blinked, his smile faltering. Chaol made no move to hide his intentions as he looked right at Manon. “I’d prefer if we spoke somewhere more private.”

Knowing Dorian would be too uncomfortable to agree without making her feel like he distrusted her, Manon nodded. “I will be near the musicians,” she muttered in a voice meant to scramble the heads of men.

The Adviser almost growled as he grabbed Dorian by the arm and led him away.

…

“What is she doing here?” Chaol demanded as he and Dorian walked into an empty hallway.

“So Nesryn doesn’t have a message for me?”

Chaol looked close to bursting. “Are you serious? She could kill you at any moment!” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even have your weapons on you!”

Making sure no one was listening, the King leaned forward. “I trust her.”

The shock on Chaol’s face would have been humorous had this been any other situation. “Are you sleeping with her?” When Dorian breathed out, his Advisor shook his head. “Are you insane?! That-that _thing_ isn’t one of those frilly women you used to distract yourself with! She’s not even a normal witch!”

But Dorian wasn’t paying attention to him. “Thing?”

Chaol wiped the sweat building on his forehead. “Do you want to die, Dorian? Is that it?”

“She’s not a _thing_ and don’t be so dramatic-”

“Why did you bring her to this ball? What message are you trying to send? The only reason I was there was because one of my guards- **your guards** -saw her with you! Do you know what the people will say when they find out you brought an **Ironteeth Matron** to a ball?”

Dorian frowned, but he wasn’t upset. “If she wanted to kill me,” he said slowly, “she would have done so already. The Blackbeaks aren’t our enemies anymore. And I didn’t _bring_ her, I invited her. She came on her own free will.”

The former Captain was muttering things, pacing as he grabbed unto his sword. “What of our people, Dorian? Your kingdom **needs** you and instead of doing your duty you’re spending time with someone who isn’t even allied to us? A killer?”

The last question made Dorian nauseous. Of course he cared for his kingdom! He sometimes stressed over it so much he would have nightmares so bad he would wake up vomiting. Being with Manon…changed things for him in that aspect. He didn’t feel like a King around her, just Dorian. It cleared his mind and made him tired enough to fall asleep. And after their talk…

“Perhaps I _want_ an alliance,” the blue-eyed man said, making himself focus. “An aerial cavalry would do Adarlan good.” Chaol’s fierce expression remained. “As for my people, I’m not particularly concerned of what they think when it comes to who I do or do not bed. If it concerns you so much then say that we are delegating.”

“Even if you were ‘delegating.” A scoff. “It wouldn’t explain why you invited her to a ball meant to find you a Queen.”

And there it was.

Dorian shrugged. “The theme wasn’t decided by me. We both know it’s a custom people need to get over. I only agreed to maintain tradition by going to the ball because, like you said, our people need it.” A pointed look. “Not to find myself a wife.”

“Tell that to the people who say you purposely walked up to her. Of the way you bowed and she didn’t bow back-”

“Witches don’t bow-”

“Are you in love with her?”

The question caught Dorian so off-guard he jumped on the spot. For truth, the King wasn’t entirely sure if what he felt was love. A growing affection perhaps, but that it had all started as pure lust hadn’t escaped him. The kiss had been a product of his curiosity, but it ended up meaning more than that, making him rethink his feelings on it all. When he had gone to the fort to the East of Adarlan he made sure to take a full day off just to seek her out because of it.

He hadn’t been surprised she had not shown up, but she certainly had when the King arrived at her bedroom after hiking up the tallest mountain in the area. He had smiled at her when she opened the door as twelve witches stood behind him, all of them armed and poised to strike.

Manon had allowed him to remain, sending out her sentries until they were left alone. They talked a lot, for hours on end. And it had nothing to do with their sex life or the kiss. They had been hunted by demons, metaphorical and literal. They both had idolized abusive family figures and had to rework their network-their entire minds-to recognize the fact that they were not monsters. They both cared deeply for their friends and wished to protect their loved ones at all costs. They were leaders, accepting of their roles despite the fact that they didn’t choose their lives. It had been a revelation, a relief, to speak to someone that understood. Who knew what it was like to fight the literal darkness within them.

“Dorian?”

The young man swallowed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe.” He cringed a little when he thought of Sorcha, the healer that could have been his Queen had she lived.

He had always wanted a healer as a Queen.

But fate worked in mysterious ways.  

And he was not the same Dorian as before.

“I want to talk to her.”

Dorian actually snorted, politeness thrown aside as he blurted out an “of course not” that rebounded off the walls.

“The witch could be manipulating you.”

“Humor me,” Dorian remarked, getting tired of the conversation and hoping Manon was still in the ballroom. Chaol couldn’t understand their connection and Dorian did not want to explain it to him, at least not yet. “ _If_ we married, who would gain more out of it?”

Manon would win an army of soldiers and the support of nations allied to Adarlan, Terrasen included. Dorian, on the other hand, would gain three hundred wyverns with heavily trained, disciplined witches. Not to mention their magic. Chaol seemed to be thinking around those lines. “She would kill you. The second you marry her, she would wait until the people gained her trust and kill you.” His lips curled as he stepped toward the King. “Or perhaps she would just wait until your mortal life ended and take control of Adarlan then. She would be unstoppable.”

Dorian met the stare head on before he raised his hand and summoned a ball of ice and snow. “This magic-my magic…Rowan told me it was likely it could freeze more than just material things.”

Horrified, Chaol stepped back. “What?” He whispered.

“I am not Fae, but my magic is different.”

“Are you telling me you think you are immortal?”

Dorian flinched at the hurt in Chaol’s voice. “I have my suspicions.”

The other man inched back. “And now you tell me?”

“I wanted to make sure first.”

“Is that why you sought out an immortal? So your Queen doesn’t grow old either?”

“No.” And that was the truth. Manon had nothing to do with the possibility of him being immortal. “Listen, Chaol. I know you are worried and I know all this is confusing and new and foreign.” Dorian went for Chaol’s shoulders, the man who had grown from being his friend, to his Captain, to his Adviser. They were more than friends at this point…brothers. “We need to take things day by day. We need to worry about our Kingdom before the possibility of a Queen.”

“Even if I loved her,” Dorian continued, “I wouldn’t marry her outright. I know your opinion of Manon is…strained, but she doesn’t want to be Queen. I don’t even know if she likes me beyond the bedroom. It will be a long time, before I am ready to even consider marriage. _With anyone_.”

Chaol stared at him them, closely and carefully. After seconds that seemed hours, the Adviser nodded slowly. “I understand.” He raised his head, jutting out his chin. “I still want to talk to her.”

Dorian groaned. “Chaol.”

“Not today, but soon.”

“I can’t promise she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Before Dorian could respond, Chaol was already walking away. “Be careful, Dorian.”

The King bowed, feeling relief coat him. “I will, I promise.”

They shared a look before they both went their separate ways.

 …

Back at the ball, Manon was halfway out of her mind and seriously considering leaving when she spotted Dorian come out from one of the many doors surrounding the large room. Immediately ladies flocked to him, trying to strike up conversation while showing off young, supple bodies.

As usual, Dorian was quick to interact, smiling when appropriate and talking about menial things. All the while slowly making his way toward the back of the room, toward her. She watched him approach in amusement, especially as he literally dodged a kiss aimed too close to his mouth.

“Having fun watching me struggle?” He asked with a smile, genuine this time, after he freed himself from the admirers.

Manon crossed her arms. “I have always enjoyed the suffering of men.”

He actually chuckled and she let herself enjoy the sound. “I think I’ve had enough interaction for the day. Would you mind taking a walk with me?”

Manon noticed how dancers had joined the ball and how the attention had fallen on them. Dorian must be used to doing this if he knew when and how to leave. “Where to?” She inquired and he signaled with his hand.

A half-hour into their walk, Dorian was telling her about the paintings on the western side of the castle. “This one here was a gift from a eastern kingdom. Someone once told me it costs as much as a small castle though I’ve never had it verified.”

Manon observed the large painting, taking in the spring landscape it depicted…and not being moved or impressed. She could never understand the arts, even when she supposed she enjoyed music. “It would make good tinder.”

Dorian laughed. “Of course it would. Here, follow me. I’ll show you my favorite painting in the whole castle.”

They walked through a quiet hallway that led them to a small guest room at the end. Despite knowing this was a small room compared to others in the castle, a whole family could live within it. There was a poster bed large enough for two, furnished with a polished dark colored wood. Aside from that, there was a dark lilac-colored couched to the side, a small fireplace, a dresser, wardrobe and vanity made with the same wood as the bed, and a bookcase. Two windows that faced part of the gardens outside were next to a door that Manon could surmise led to a bathroom.

The one thing in the room that Dorian was paying attention to however, was the small painting of a pair of brown dogs facing a river, as if searching for prey. “The artist called it ‘two dogs,’ such a simple name for something that clearly means so much more.”

The little princeling was fascinated by it and she let him talk about where he got it and why he loved it quietly, despite the fact that she didn’t find it any more impressive than the other paintings around the castle. It was…cute to see him go about something others would try and change the subject for. There was a moment of pause as he gathered his thoughts. “Why is this not in your room if you like it so much?” She asked.

Scarlet covered his cheeks, something she hadn’t seen him do before. It made his eyes sparkle. “Sorry, I was rambling wasn’t I?”

The witch raised an eyebrow. “It’s okay to talk about something you delight in.” When he stayed silent for too long, she tilted her head. “You disagree?”

“No, no, it’s just…yeah, you’re right.” He looked away. “My mother didn’t like the painting, that’s why I didn’t have it in my room.”

“Then you should move it. She’s far away now.” In a northern castle with his younger brother. It was quite obvious the former Queen had no desire to come back to Rifthold. Dorian had admitted he didn’t want to face her or his brother any time soon anyway. His father’s influence was still too fresh in his mind. “If I like something, I wouldn’t hide it away,” she added.

“Why don’t witches kiss?”

Manon stiffened. Dorian’s eyes were set on her face, his expression one she recognized. She turned away, toward the windows. “Weren’t we talking about your painting?”

He smiled a little as he stepped forward, “tell me.”

“I’m not sure, it’s not something we were raised to do.”

“So was I your first kiss?” She didn’t growl at him, but her eyes sent the same message.

“No, you weren’t.”

“But you said witches don’t kiss.”

“Blackbeaks don’t, unless absolutely necessary. I don’t know about the other covens. The last time I kissed someone I was also driving my cleaver through their abdomen.”

Dorian’s eyebrows raised a bit. “And how long ago was that?”

“Before magic was taken away-why does it matter?”

His smirk grew as he stopped in front of her. “So I was your first kiss in about thirty-forty years?”

Manon was unimpressed. “You are a child.”

“Would you kiss me if I asked?”

“No.”

His pout was so infuriating, Manon huffed. “Why not?” He demanded.

She thought about it. There wasn’t a reason outside of her upbringing and the new Matron was starting to realize just how much control her dead grandmother still had over her. “There is no reason,” she let herself admit after some silence.

It seemed he was waiting for that. “One kiss,” he pleaded, his voice reminding her of the whines Abraxos gave her when she refused to let him follow after her. “If there’s no reason then let me have one kiss. There’s nothing bad in just trying it out.”

She was already regretting admitting to it, even though it was true. A kiss wasn’t a significant act within itself, but it was different for her. Still, even she had to admit that she was curious. What he had done before had been no more than a sliver of a lip-lock. She had barely felt it, though the caress was enough for her to like it. “I want a deal then,” she told him.

“Name it.”

Her golden eyes narrowed. “One kiss. For a talk with Asterin.”

…

Dorian fought the cold shiver that racked through him. When he had gone to the mountain, Asterin had been the first to confront him. Sniffing at him and threatening disembowelment if he hurt Manon in any way, especially in the emotional sense. Staring at the Blackbeak now, he wondered if he would be the one most hurt if whatever they had didn’t work out. “Asterin?”

“She wishes to speak with you, without me around.” She waved her hand, like she wasn’t talking about his potential demise. “She was particularly insistent.”

“Chaol wants to talk to you too.”

 A raise of those pretty eyebrows. “Oh? Is he worried I will eat you alive?”

“Among other things.”

Manon took her time as she reflected on it. “I will consider after your talk with my Second.” If he survived, he thought wryly.

“It has to be a long kiss, thorough.” If he was taking this deal he might as well place his own terms. “Nothing quick.”

Manon sneered a bit, but her eyes were defiant. “Fine.”

Dorian nodded, but neither moved.

...

“So…are we doing it now or…?”

Manon tilted her head, observing his face, taking in the symmetrical features. The princeling sucked in a breath, his lips parting slightly as she cupped either side of that face with her hands. One kiss, she told herself as she inched forward. One kiss was nothing. His eyes flickered as he followed her motion, leaning down.

Their lips met briefly, the softest of touches, and unlike the last time, she responded. Their mouths moved, testing out the new sensations. It felt more intimate than sex, she thought, especially when he breathed in and pressed his body closer.

When he licked at her bottom lip it was almost instinctual to open her mouth.

He groaned, a deep and full sound that made it impossible to stop. His hands went up to her face and when she tried to catch her breath, he stopped her, deepening the kiss, licking at her teeth. His hands were in her hair now, pulling as he made her open up more.

But the witch was stronger and she broke away to breathe only to bump her head on the wall. How did they even get there? The thought process was caught short as she inhaled. His scent was strong, the attraction heavy despite the fact that they were both fully clothed. And as Dorian’s hand stroked her cheek, Manon reminded herself that she had agreed to only one kiss.

Just one-

But the second Dorian came in for a second round, the Blackbeak met him halfway. It was nothing short of natural and she felt him mutter something into the kiss right before he grabbed her thighs, urging her up. The stupid dress got in the way a little, but Manon managed to hook herself around his hips and he placed her on the low bookcase against the wall. One of his hands rode up her dress while the other was on her waist.

“You taste fantastic,” he muttered. “What did you eat beforehand?”

Manon frowned a little as she moved back. “What?”

Dorian was so heated it was almost humoring to watch him struggle to tear his eyes away from her lips. “Is it a witch thing?” He asked quietly as his finger grazed her bottom one. As if to find an answer, the King went down again. His moan was a surprise and Manon thought back to her lessons. But she had no recollection or memories that specifically targeted kisses…or their taste.

Perhaps it was part of the trap. Ironteeth were beautiful by default and were trained to utilize that beauty to ensnare and enrapture. The thirsty way Dorian was looking at her seemed answer enough. Slowly, Manon trailed a hand on his neck, pulling him down. She was claiming as she entered his mouth this time and the breathy way he was responding made her feel powerful, in control.           

“Bed?” He asked, palming her back. She could barely nod against his mouth, but he caught on immediately, going so far as to carry her over.

As they both landed on top of the sheets their hands were on their clothing, pulling and throwing garments over the side of the bed between kisses. When they were close to being naked, Dorian paused for long enough to speak, his voice heavy with desire.

“I top this time.”

Surprised, she breathed out a laugh, but his kiss swallowed it up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post! I sincerely thought I was in Chapter 12 not 11 woops.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	12. Breakfast

Dorian woke up tired and sore as he lazily opened his eyes to a rising sun. He was confused as he noticed the sunlight drifted over a bare stone wall, not his ornate dresser. The moment was broken as he remembered his night, the terrifying trip on the back of a wyvern, the slam of the wind as they descended. The nice moments afterward, heavy breaths and long, slow kisses.

Manon's bed was small, comfortable for one person, but cramped for two. Still, Dorian didn't mind having her so close, or half sprawled over each other as it were. They had taken to sleeping together after sex, and the young King was reluctant to address out loud what it meant, what it could mean.

This was the first time he'd stayed over at her place though.

The room, _her room_ , was simple, with a few candles on opposite sides of it, a tiny wooden dresser with nothing but two knives on top, a neat pile of leathers on a corner and three hooks with her red cloak and two black ones next to it. His own set of clothes were in a bag on her worn chair. No vanity, no mirror, no dresses or jewelry. The only shoes she owned were two pairs of boots, one for flying and the other for long travel.

Dorian suddenly felt a little foolish within his opulence. He had a room just for his countless footwear alone.

Shifting a bit, the young man bit back a hiss. He tried something different with her and though deeply enjoyable, her nails were a bit too sharp and his skin a bit too breakable. Manon had actually apologized, kissing her way down his throat and passing soft fingers over the scratches on either side of his waist. Speaking of which, though she was on her stomach and turned toward the wall, Manon was still fast asleep. Unfortunately, she was not a cuddler. Fortunately, the bed was so small the little witchling had no choice but to let him tangle their legs together, her arm over his, fingers close.

She had a single flimsy sheet to cover herself with and Dorian wondered if she ever got cold.

Bravely, the King slowly raised his left arm and made a move to lay it on her head. He watched her fingers, flinching at the memories of her nails and wondering if startling her awake would make those same claws sink into his neck.

He stopped right before he touched her hair, reconsidering. "I'm not going to attack you," he heard her mutter.

Her voice was so nice like this, Dorian was momentarily distracted by its sound. Then he registered what she said and tried to save himself the embarrassment. "You can't blame me for being careful. You bite." It was a joke, but he wasn't a complete fool. Manon was dangerous, rivaling Aelin, perhaps worse. And yet here he was, unguarded and potentially vulnerable, literally in this beautiful predator's claws.

Completely deserting common sense, Dorian let his hand drop on her hair in a gesture he wouldn't have done a few weeks ago. It was so soft he had the urge to groan. "Like a lamb," she muttered, turning her head and meeting his eyes.

Dorian shrugged a little as his hand brushed hers. Leaning close he smiled. "What is a wolf doing sleeping next to a lamb?"

This time their lips were the ones brushing against each other as she spoke. "Perhaps I am a lamb too."

"Hm," he wondered, leaning back. "Is that it? Or are we just two wolves?"

"Perhaps wyverns."

He chuckled and to his delight, she smiled back- a tiny thing, the ends of her lips rising. "I could get used to this," he admitted slowly. When she tilted her head, he cleared his throat a bit. "Waking up next to you."

As expected, Manon froze over, going so far as to sit up. "It's late, breakfast will be ready soon."

"Hey, Manon." But she was climbing over him, her movements so fast and coordinated, he had trouble taking her arm.

The witch looked at his hand then up at him. She raised her own fingers and touched at the center of his chest. "Stay," she ordered before going for his wrist and prying herself away.

Entranced and a bit confused, Dorian watched as she dressed, always fast-as if following a rhythm. When done, Manon glanced at him again, still naked on her bed, his hair a mess. "Where are you going?"

There was a hint of humor in her pretty eyes. "Washroom. You can use it when we are done."

He knew who she meant by 'we.' Nodding because she was staring, Manon imitated his gesture before leaving the room. Not really knowing what to do, Dorian just sat there, observing the room. He really wanted to get her a better bed, and proper sheets. The pillow could use a change too, to silk and cotton. Curiously, the King glanced at the door, smirking a bit as he stood up and placed on his lower underwear. Manon had had plenty of time to explore his quarters, he might as well explore hers. Taking his time, Dorian went to the dresser first. Cheaply made, wooden, nothing pretty about it. As always, its function was favored over its looks. One of the hinges was missing, but he got the upper drawer to open.

The urge to smile won over. Undergarments, all in white. "Perhaps I should get you more color," he mumbled as he picked up a few items. All in good condition. For a moment, he let himself imagine her in red...or lace.

Closing it, he explored the second drawer. Undershirts and tights. For the cold, he knew. Grabbing one he observed the material. Nylon, a rarity.  Very good quality. As he closed the drawer and observed her cloaks, the door opened.

"Hello, little King."

The voice did not belong to Manon and as he turned Dorian felt very exposed, especially as Sorrel’s eyes raked over him. "Cute," was her only observation, before stepping forward. Funny how with Manon the room felt of a comfortable size. Now, he couldn't get far enough away. "Don't be so tense, I'm not here to kill you."

That did not calm him down and due to the stress, he felt his magic starting to act up. He had taken some training with Aelin and Rowan and, grinding into his lessons, Dorian managed to hold it back. Sorrel watched him quietly, calculated, as if she was assessing a threat.

She sniffed at the air. "You slept here."

The King couldn't tell if it was surprise or anger tinting her voice. "I did."

"Next to her?"

His eyebrows drew together. "Yes...?"

"Interesting."

"Why?"

Sorrel narrowed her eyes and as the Third came forward, Dorian shrank back. Manon was smaller than him, Sorrel was not. "In our culture, sharing sleeping quarters is a sign of honor." She went for his cheeks, her iron nails digging into his skin. "I'd eat you if she didn't have you as a pet, you know."

A threat? Or just plain brutal honesty?

Dorian couldn't tell.

For a moment, they stared at each other...before Sorrel took a small swipe with her nail underneath his chin. The sting made him jump, but it was a small scratch.

Just as she was about to lick it, Sorrel disappeared.

Her movements were so fast, Dorian felt a sliver of cold run out of him, freezing the spots under his feet.

But Sorrel hadn't made herself disappear. Manon had pulled her out, slamming the bigger witch against the outer wall with a fathom strength he kept forgetting she had. The white-haired witch growled deep, the sound vibrating against the walls. "Leave."

Sorrel’s face was down, her eyes focusing on the floor. Nothing of the threat she posed before present, only utter respect and submission. She bowed as low as she could in Manon's hold. "Matron." Even her voice had changed.

As Sorrel left without so much as a glance at him, Dorian let out a breath in relief. He was just starting to notice how dangerous these people were. That they were beautiful meant nothing, that Manon never made a move to attack him meant nothing. It was clear he was barely tolerated.

"Dorian." His eyes snapped up to her face, taking in the fresh scent. Not even her smell could affect him now. Manon slowly approached. "Are you...hurt?"

Was that actual concern or was he mistaken? "I'm fine," he lied. When she merely kept staring, he rubbed the back of his head. "She was looking out for you, that's all."

These weren't human women. They were more beast than anything. Manon's face was a ruse, to hide the malice underneath. What was he thinking? Not just with coming here but spending time with her at all?

"Do you want to go?"

The question sucked out the air in the room like it was fire. Dorian swallowed. "I think so, yes."

Manon nodded, but another voice joined in. "No, you don't."

Both turned to the door where a beautiful blonde stood grinning at them. Asterin. Her smile grew as she let herself inside, sniffing at the room. "Wow, you let him sleep here?"

Manon didn't answer, her face and body stiff.

Dorian remembered it meant something...something deep. To sleep next to someone. It seemed Sorrel didn't lie to him from the funny way Asterin looked at her Matron. "Tell me, Dorian," he preferred his name on Manon's tongue, even though her Second was quite the beauty herself. "Are you hungry? Manon ordered for a fourteenth spot."

His former thoughts of doubt and self-reflection went out the window. "You did?" He asked her.

"If you are uncomfortable," she replied slowly, her eyes on his. "You can go." Next to her, Asterin frowned. There was only one way Dorian would describe the Second's expression.

Bewilderment.

"Can you give us a moment, Asterin? If only for me to dress?"

Asterin bowed in Manon's direction even though the latter didn't acknowledge her, before taking her leave and closing the door behind her.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asked.

Manon's face was stone. "The choice is yours."

"But do you want me to?"

"What do _you_ want?"

Dorian stepped forward, looking at her with a tilt of his head. "I asked first. Manon, do you want me to stay here?"

She looked away and crossed her arms, pushing him back with her body language. With a low voice she said, "I don't know."

Since he had gained more trust around her, he stepped close, enough to share breath. "Is something happening?" He wondered. "Between us, I mean?"

Her frown was so heavy he wondered if the expression would remain permanent on her face. "What do you want?" She shot back. "Why do you insist on defining _this_ -whatever it is."

Dorian blinked and hesitated before he reached for her waist. She twitched a bit but didn't stop him. "I think..." He paused, going over his many thoughts. The nights he stayed up thinking about all this, about his future. "I think we should be something." Screw everything else but them right now, in this instant.

He spoke again. "I think we should court."

The silence was jarring and he felt like maybe he should have waited longer. At the same time though, saying it felt like a release. A weight eased off his shoulders.

"Court," Manon repeated slowly, each syllable pronounced with force.

"We could start," he offered as she had not objected to his suggestion yet, "with breakfast. Later, perhaps...I would like to take you to the theater. You told me you liked music. We have a really good orchestra. We don't have to though, if you don't want-we can try other things...um...are you okay?"

He was rambling nonsense while she was white as a sheet. Worried, he went for her face. "Manon?"

Her hands came up, grabbing unto his forearms. "You wish to court?" She whispered, like she was talking to herself.

The confusion in her voice so deep, Dorian paused. "You don't want to?"

"You are...so infuriating," she admitted before stepping out of his hands.

"Why do you say that?"

"Court,” she repeated, mystified.

Dorian smiled a little. "Yes, and I think breakfast sounds great to start off-”

Her gold eyes were fierce as she spoke. "What of your kingdom?"

She hadn’t said no. She hadn’t said no. "I don’t really care what my people think in that regard-wait,” he cut in, “does that mean you want to court?"

She shook her head, but not to deny him. "I think and think but there is no way to understand you."

Surprised, he raised an eyebrow. "And you think I understand you at all?" There was a pause. "Manon, we lose nothing by trying.”

He knew what was going through her head. Witches didn’t court. Lovers were a luxury, like dessert. Something pleasant and sweet, but not necessary for survival. Disposable. “No.”

Dorian fought the ache in his chest. He should have expected rejection, but he was still surprised. Maybe Manon hadn’t changed like he thought she had. “I thought you liked me.”

“A stupid assumption.”

The King blinked. If only for the fact that he was now realizing _he_ hadn’t changed her. The fact that he was an idiot didn’t stop him from continuing. “But we’ve been sleeping together,” he pleaded. And he did not mean the sex.

There it was, he thought with a bit of hope. Hesitation. But it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, and she was back to being a stone wall. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“What?” He exclaimed, his voice higher than he intended. “That’s not fair!”

A scoff. “You think life is fair?”

“You can’t just shut me out.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Dorian.”

Evading. Manon was always evading. Dorian was starting to know her now. When she didn’t want to talk about something, when she was put into a corner, when she felt pressured, the witch just closed up and shut everything and everyone out. But she owed him nothing, and he couldn’t ask for more than she was giving him.

For a moment, the King just stared at her. “Breakfast though, _right_?” He challenged, his tone clipped.

She met his gaze head on. “The washroom is at the end of the hallway, to your left. You have ten minutes.”

…

Dorian was finishing up in the communal washroom when he heard footsteps. The sound was on purpose, so he didn’t startle and he wasn’t sure how to feel when Asterin smiled at him. Their conversation not two weeks before came to mind, specifically the part where she reminded him that Manon was not easy, in any sense of the word. “What?” He asked when the blonde didn’t speak.

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

He chided himself for saying that too quickly. “You sound a little upset.”

Why Asterin bothered with him, he didn’t know. “Manon is frustrating.”

A very pretty laugh escaped her and the Second tilted her head. “My Matron can be a stubborn brat sometimes, that’s for sure.” Dorian held back his chuckle expertly, coating the expression with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that a sign of disrespect?”

The little grin remained. “If Manon truly cared for what I said, I would have been dead decades ago.”

“Did she send you?”

The smile turned into a smirk. “Would you send the King’s Hand, your Advisor, to speak with her?”

Good point. “Should I leave?”

Asterin shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

Choice. It had always been a choice. He chose to sleep with her. She chose to come back. He chose to invite her to a ball. She chose to take him to this mountain. “Where is she now?”

“In the hallway. She doesn’t know I’m here though, nor can she hear us.”

Manon had called him confusing. Ironic how he thought the same of her. “Would you be willing to advocate?”

Her eyebrows drew together. “For what?”

“I want to convince her that we should court.”

…

Breakfast was interesting to say the least. The mess hall was in the middle of the stone building within the mountain, large enough for a group of forty, though only The Thirteen seemed to stay here. Dorian entered the room slowly, feeling as all eyes turned to him-some curious, some surprised-none of them were hostile as much as he could tell. Sorrel was nowhere to be seen however.

No one seemed to mind and the King followed after Manon feeling as though he was being stalked and judged. If there was something he learned from Blackbeaks, it was their directness, as not a single one hid their stare, even though some had food in front of them.

“You can sit there, King,” Asterin told him with a barely concealed grin. She was definitely enjoying his squirming.

“T-Thank you.”

The ground should swallow him whole, he thought. A stuttering mess, that’s what he was now, a deer in a lion’s den. But his embarrassment quelled minutely when Manon turned to him, a meal already placed in front of her. “The food here is different than your fancy meals.”

Silence. Even the silverware was put on hold, some of the witches stopping mid-bite.

Pretending this was a council meeting with proud lords and hard-to-impress ladies watching his every move, Dorian smiled charmingly, sitting on the chair like it was a throne. “I highly doubt anything that is served in my castle could hold a candle to this wonderful-looking feast.”

A snicker. Probably from Asterin.

Manon gave a slow nod. “You’d better eat it all then less you wish to insult Ghislaine’s cooking.”

Dorian glanced at the perplexing amount of food in front of him, so much it was spread along three large plates. He then turned to the dark-skinned witch whose narrowed green eyes were amused. “Good thing I’m hungry,” he muttered as he picked up a fork and knife.

Everyone in that room knew he would barely be able to finish one plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Leave suggestions if you have any!


	13. Candlelight

A child's cry pierced the air, making Dorian breathe out tiredly. Because of their busy schedule, the King and Queen remained in bed, but even though someone hushed the child, the wails only became louder. It was clear that the baby did not want her caretaker.

Smiling despite the time of night, Dorian opened his eyes, declaring an “I'll get her,” his companion didn’t outwardly react to.

It took a few tries, but the blue-eyed man finally stood up and headed for the adjoined bedroom where the flustered caretaker stood. "Your majesty-"

"It's fine, I'll take her. Take the night off."

Ignoring the apology and reassuring the caretaker once more, Dorian cringed as the cries became more insistent. "Hey, it's okay, there's no catastrophe, Sorrin." The baby fisted a hand on his shirt, pulling as the tears continued. Despite the permanent damage to his eardrum, Dorian chuckled. "I think I know what you want."

Manon was awake, sitting up in bed with a hand rubbing at her face. Dorian grinned in her direction even though the baby pushed at his face in an effort to get away. "She is too dependable," he heard Manon mutter while Sorrin took a breath before wailing again.

"She's ten months old."

The witch shrugged. "Leave her at the edge of the bed."

"What? Why?"

"If she wishes to be held, she must earn it."

Even though he frowned in disapproval, Dorian placed Sorrin on the far end of the sheets. The bed looked enormous all of a sudden. "She's a baby," he countered.

"She is lucky. Most witches grow up without their mothers."

The King breathed out. They had already talked about Sorrin's upbringing in detail before, but it was hard for Dorian to accept the strictness. Sorrin couldn’t even talk yet.

Still, he took a step back and watched as the baby sniffed, sitting up on her behind, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that could melt the coldest glaciers. It did nothing to move Manon however. A cry that sounded suspiciously close to 'mama' left her lips and Dorian itched to pick her up and give her to the witch, who was merely staring at her daughter closely.

"If you want mama," the witch said slowly, "you crawl to mama."

‘She's a baby, Manon,’ he thought, ‘just pick her up.’

But to his surprise, Sorrin quieted, sniffing again as she blinked at her mother. She gave a little whine which caused Manon to cross her arms.

Because of it, slowly, impossibly, Sorrin got on her little legs...and crawled the large expanse of the bed. The smile on Manon was short of breathtaking and the resounding cry of joy from Sorrin made Dorian's eyes water.

"Strong girl," Manon whispered as she picked up Sorrin, who cooed as she wrapped her arms around her mother's neck.

Dorian circled the bed and even let out a chuckle as Sorrin lay her head on Manon's shoulder.

"Tomorrow," the witch said as they got comfortable, "I'm taking Sorrin with me."

Alarm bells rang all around Dorian's brain. "Tomorrow? Aren't you going hunting with your Thirteen tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"And you want to take Sorrin?"

"I _am_ taking her."

His mouth dropped. "Absolutely not."

Manon's face was impassive. "Contrary to popular belief, some witches are not born with love for the wind. We must learn to enjoy it."

"No way! I understand your training and everything else, but you are not taking our daughter on Abraxos to **hunt**!"

"Kaya designed a carrier for her. She will be fine-"

"No, Manon."

"I'm not asking for your permission nor your opinion."

Dorian stopped himself before he upset the drowsy child. It was an effort to lower his voice. "That is not fair, she is my daughter too."

The witch rubbed Sorrin's back. "Your concern is noted, but this is necessary. The first flight is important and the earlier the better. Some witchlings are taken to the air days after their birth. I waited because of you."

Dorian was touched, but his worry did not lessen. "Then fly with her here in the castle grounds, not for a hunt."

They stared at each other for a bit, their expressions strikingly similar. Manon let out a breath as she lay the back of her head against the headboard. “You can come too, if you’re so worried.”

Dorian balked. Hunting within the Thirteen was sacred. Their wyverns could get their food from the castle if they wished, but they insisted on hunting to maintain bonds and forge their strength. It had become such a big deal, there was talk of the forming of a holiday around the sport. People would even come up to the castle walls and see them off sometimes.  

That Manon was offering Dorian a chance to go for the sake of their child was touching, but heavily alarming. Her sentries would follow her orders and let him join, but that bond that had been formed over years and years would be broken if they let an outsider in, even if it was him.

“You can’t expect me to say yes.”

She blinked. “It’s only fair.”

Fair, yes. Plausible? No. “If something happened to her-”

“Abraxos will stay behind. We will watch the hunt from the sky.”

Dorian nodded to himself, drinking in the way Sorrin reached for her mother’s hair, her tiny hand fisting around the locks. “I trust you, okay? With my life,” he clarified, “but I still worry.”

“This hunt will be short.” Manon’s voice was soft, careful, but deliberate. “We will be back within a few hours.”

The King had the urge to groan out, but he kept the sound down because the baby had fallen asleep. “Promise me.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed. “This is my child too, do not forget that.” He knew what she meant. Witchlings were rarities. Treasured and loved. Assuming Manon would not take care of their child was ludicrous. “But I promise.”

A smile shown through his worried features as he leaned in close. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Manon shrugged, though her movement was minute. “If you truly loved me,” she began in that bedroom-soft voice he was obsessed with, “you would turn off the lights.”

A bit of the laugh he had to contain escaped and he got off the bed to sputter out a few chuckles. Shaking his head while keeping a hand to his mouth, Dorian blew away the candles, but not before catching the sly grin on Manon’s face as she watched him struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> A special thanks to fangirl1203, comments like yours keep me inspired to continue posting! I'm glad you're enjoying these!
> 
> Stay tuned for more!


	14. Music

Manon Blackbeak tried not to bare her iron teeth as she took a whiff of the large man currently bowing in front of Dorian. It was a local lord she had no interest in meeting or remembering his name. His scent was a mixture of tobacco, alcohol and what she assumed was the worst perfume in history while his wares were laughable at best, despite being an apparent show of opulence. She was a few feet back, close to the wall as a number of people similar to him approached their King, who was smiling and thanking them for coming up to him.

A woman in a too-tight corset underneath her dress stepped forward. The daughter of the lord no doubt. They had the same posture and her smell was no better. Manon commended Dorian for having the self-control to maintain a placid face as he kissed the woman’s hand.

Looking away, the witch focused on the theater curtains ahead. The show would be starting soon and she couldn’t wait, if only to have the attention somewhere else. She was wearing a simple dark green dress this time, though she supposed it looked as expensive as it was, with long sleeves and high collared. If an enemy got close, she would be able to behead them with no trouble at all, especially with the knives she hid all over her body. As yet another patron went to greet Dorian, Manon reminded herself of why she was there in the first place.

She had accepted to court. Foolish and illogical as it was, she had said yes after some persistent insistence-and a few hours in bed-from not just Dorian, but, shockingly, Asterin. The rest of the Thirteen weren’t much to have opinions on the matter, but Sorell had given her a long look that could mean something in the future.

Whatever her Third’s qualms were, they had to wait.

“Your Majesty, how nice to see you here,” a female voice purred, bringing the witch’s attention back to her lover. An older human woman was bowing low, with three other attractive females trailing her. Manon observed them closely, noting the kohl in their eyes, the provocative dresses, the matching brands.

Courtesans.

“Lady Clarisse,” Dorian greeted, but his tone was brusque, like he didn’t expect her there.

Clarisse smiled as her gaze slid to Manon and stayed there. The witch met the clinical look right back, noting how the woman sized her up. “Lovely. You would have made it far in my house,” a shrug, “or in any house, really.”

Dorian was on the Blackbeak before she could step forward, discreetly holding her back by grabbing unto her arm. Manon still growled. “You are lucky we are where we are, whore.”

Clarisse seemed completely unperturbed. “I’m just stating a fact, girl. A shame I didn’t find you when you were younger.”

“Manon-”

But she was livid. “It would not be such a shame to rid your body of a head.”

Though the girls behind the lady recoiled in fear, the woman was defiant as she raised her chin. “The show is about to start. Your Majesty…witch.” The way she said the word, like an insult, made Manon think of many violent things, mainly exsanguination, perhaps disembowelment. But the woman walked away quickly, swallowed up by the darkness as the five-minute marker was announced.

Dorian let out a breath in relief. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know she would be here.”

Controlling her fury, Manon faced those blue eyes. “I could kill her for you, if you want.”

Though he glanced around nervously to make sure no one overheard, Dorian still gave her a little smile. “There are many things in a kingdom that I wished weren’t as they were, but such…baggage is necessary.”

If she were Queen, Manon would outlaw this type of practice _immediately_ -the witch was so surprised at the thought she flinched back. Dorian raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t let him speak. “Where do we sit?”

His eyes were questioning, but he didn’t insist as he went for her hand. “This way. I got us a private spot.”

The Blackbeak let him link their fingers together, let him parade her for the few that were looking, if only because she was curious to see their reactions, to gauge their feelings on the matter. She hoped the simpleminded-harlot Clarisse was looking just so she could bare her iron teeth while the King danced around her finger. But no one important turned to them and the growing darkness hid their forms.

They arrived at the seating area when the performance was starting, and Manon noticed how strategic this positioning was. To the side instead of the middle, in a small box that was halfway hidden but still provided a perfect view of the stage. As they sat, Dorian’s guards took their positions and Manon knew her Second and Third were around as well, out of sight, but close by.

“I think you’ll like this. It’s my favorite piece,” Dorian muttered as the conductor bowed and the crowd clapped.

Manon rarely listened to music. The handful of times she had were on the dirty streets of small towns, where she would hunt down Chrocans in the night and stayed indoors throughout the day. There was a time when a young woman came to town carrying a worn violin. She was poor and thin, but her gray eyes were fierce and her posture erect as she placed a worn hat on the ground and began to play.

It was the first time Manon had stopped to truly listen.

The first night she did not go out to hunt.

The music began and Manon instantly focused on the sounds, recognizing the specific chords from the violins, the sound of what she assumed were trumpets. She watched in strange fascination as the composer’s hands moved and how the musicians responded, to the point where she recognized the rhythm and was able to follow it. Never within her long lifetime had she heard music like this. She didn’t even imagine it could sound this way.

It was…moving.

The two hours was done before she realized what had happened and too soon and too quickly were the orchestra packing up. “Hey, we can go now,” Dorian said with a humorous tone. “Or we can keep staring while they leave, that works too.”

Manon blinked as she turned to the King who looked a step away from bursting out into laughter. The theater was half empty already and she had been stuck in the same position, staring as the curtains were closed. For a moment, she wasn’t sure of what to say. “I didn’t know-” she began, but cut herself off as she stood up.

Dorian seemed disappointed that she didn’t continue. “What? Did you like it?”

It was his favorite piece, she remembered. While making sure his guards couldn’t hear, she leaned over. “I’d never heard an orchestra before.”

The princeling stopped in his tracks, blinking like the sun was hitting his eyes. “What?”

The way he said it made her falter and Manon made a show to look away. “It was enjoyable,” she told him before moving ahead, past the guards.

He followed after her, but didn’t say anything as they left through the back of the theater, to avoid his subjects. It wasn’t until they were in his carriage that Dorian spoke up. “Was that really your first time?”

Moonlight filtered in as the carriage began to move. “I had heard instruments before, but never together like that or so many at a time.”

Dorian let out a dry laugh, looking like he won a bet as he leaned back against the side of the carriage. Nodding, with that stupid grin still on his face, he moved back to face her. “So you liked it?”

She didn’t understand the inflection in his voice, didn’t bother to figure it out. “I suppose I did, yes.”

The wide smile he gave her was heart-stopping as he took her hand in his. “That’s great-this is great,” he rambled, “I was worried you wouldn’t like it-or find it boring or-maybe I should show you my piano…” he trailed off as he met their eyes. “Would you like to go again with me?”

The witch’s eyebrows drew together, but not because of the question. Why was he so excited? And what was a piano? “If we are both free-”

The kiss was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome and when they parted Manon just watched as he kept that same grin. “Great, that’s great. Perfect. We can go next week-or the week after, whichever, but next week they’re playing my second favorite piece.”

She nodded slowly, amused at his reaction, but still puzzled. “That’s fine.”

Dorian went for her face, meeting their lips again. She could feel the smile on his lips this time. “Yes, yes, let’s do this again!”

It was absurd that she wanted to laugh with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	15. Happy

Chaol Westfall, First Hand of the King of Adarlan and subsequent Advisor huffed angrily as he knocked on the door leading to his King’s set of rooms. Dorian was supposed to meet him for breakfast to talk about the new division of settlements to the east of the kingdom. He was supposed to rehearse the terms with Chaol at lunch before the big meeting with his subjects. A meeting that was only an hour from now.

“Dorian, I swear if you don’t answer this door right now I am going to kick it down.” What the hell was the King doing that he was still in his rooms at this hour on such an important day?

When there was no answer, Chaol had the strong urge to growl. “Dorian Havilliard, I am going to break down this door within the next thirty seconds if you do not open up!”

There were no guards around by Chaol’s request, if only to save Dorian the embarrassment he was getting. Out of all the days to sleep in. Counting down in his head before he burst from the frustration, Chaol was quick to reach his breaking point. “Three, two,” he muttered, “one.”

Just as he was about to kick down the door, it opened.

Chaol cursed.

“Ugh, not you.”

That beautiful witch with the white hair and those stupid pretty eyes stood in front of him clad in a simple tunic that seemed hastily placed. “Good morning to you too, Advisor,” she said smoothly, no doubt the same voice she used to entrap Dorian or whoever else was near enough to listen.

Chaol sneered. “What is he doing?”

She smiled, but it was nothing natural, more like a predator watching its prey. “Sleeping.”

The Blackbeak Matron had been staying over more often, while Dorian kept leaving more often. A fool, that’s what the King had turned into. Inviting this creature into his life, his bed. The First Hand almost pushed past her, but that meant he had to touch her and he would never do that. “Tell him to get up and come talk to me immediately.”

Manon seemed more intent on observing him. “Why?”

Why? Conceited brat. “This doesn’t concern you,” he snapped, his temper rising. “Now get your boyfriend out here this instant or I’m going in there myself.”

She tilted her head, but stepped aside. “Go ahead.”

A taunt. And Chaol begged the gods for patience and tolerance. If he punched her right in that symmetrical face he would tempt death itself-and **not** from Dorian. He still considered it, wondering how exactly she would retaliate. Glaring, Chaol slinked past her, avoiding contact at all costs, feeling a chill down his spine at having those iron nails so close.

Dorian was suicidal, daring to sleep next to this woman. The same one that followed his movements closely as he made his way to the King’s main room. “Dorian.” The young man looked like he was having the time of his life as he slept, his hair was mused and his bare back visible with the sheets barely covering his behind. When Chaol repeated the name, Dorian merely shifted a bit.

Shaking his head, the Advisor felt the witch approach. “Heavy sleeper,” she explained, like she knew him more than Chaol did.

“I thought witches don’t sleep with their lovers.”

Manon shrugged, walking toward the King with feline grace, her feet making no sound as she approached. “They don’t.”

That caught the former Captain off guard. “Why do you?”

She paused, as if thinking about it. “I’m not sure,” she admitted before passing a hand over Dorian’s dark hair. A gesture that was so different from what he knew about the Ironteeth that Chaol took a step back in complete appalment. “Dorian,” she muttered and the former Captain huffed in amusement. Dorian wasn’t going to wake up by talking softly to him-

The result was instantaneous, the King waking up with a breath. “Hey, what?”

“Your Advisor is here.” The same one shaking his head in disbelief.

Dorian’s eyes were all for the witch and Chaol secretly chided him for letting himself get tangled in her web. The King made a move to touch her face or her neck, but Manon moved out of the way quickly, facing Chaol with a neutral look on her face. Interesting.

It took Dorian quite a bit to look away from her, but when he spotted Chaol that half-drowsy, half-dreamy look outright disappeared. As the King sat up and almost fell out of bed in the process, his subject crossed his arms. “Crap, what time is it?”

“You have an hour.”

As the man stood up in all his bare glory, Chaol pointedly looked away. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Came the accusation.

While still looking at the ceiling, he spoke. “You said not to bother you,” he sent a pointed look at Manon, “but because I know you’re an idiot, I came by.”

Chaol let himself look back toward the bed as Dorian went to his dressing room. “At least we have an hour.”

The Advisor looked at the witch, who was still watching him. Her focus made him uncomfortable, enough that he had to address it. “Do you always stare at people like that or am I just a special case?”

She blinked and he noticed how pretty her eyelashes were in discontent. “Is it bothering you?”

“Yes,” he snapped. Those gold eyes merely narrowed.

“Now, now, be nice to each other,” Dorian said as he stepped between them in a white and green tunic. He faced her first. “Chaol’s my closest friend and my Advisor.” The King turned to Chaol, who uncrossed his arms. “Manon and I are courting-”

“You could be married to her and I still wouldn’t trust her.”

The witch huffed, her lips curling into a barely concealed smirk as Dorian cleared his throat. “I know you don’t like this.” Clearly. “But if and when she is your Queen, you need to at least show respect.”

‘If and when’? **Queen?**

Chaol pushed Dorian out of the way as he moved right in front of Manon, enough to share breath. She did not move away as he spoke. “You think I don’t know your game?”

She moved closer, but didn’t touch him. Her scent was nice, and he would have enjoyed it on any other female but her. “If I had wanted the throne, I would have it already, Chaol. I have no interest in your human affairs.”

The man flinched back, surprised at hearing his name in her voice. Dorian stepped in, but Chaol held out his arm in front of him, keeping him back. “Do you love him? Because I think he deserves better than you.”

“Chaol…” Dorian started, but he paused when Manon crossed her arms.

She looked straight at the King. “He knows what I feel.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Chaol asked.

“None of your concern,” she said as she raised a finger and her nail grazed the former Captain’s chest. His response was immediate, jumping back and swatting away her hand in the process. Dorian tensed, but Manon let her arm drop to her side.

Chaol shook his head, turning to Dorian. “Let’s go, or I might actually punch her.”

The impertinent harpy actually chuckled, _chuckled_ , and the King turned to her in obvious admiration, so entrapped Chaol grabbed his arm if only to stop himself from doing something he might regret later. “Let’s go,” he repeated with more force and Dorian stumbled, holding his hands out to stabilize himself.

“Alright, alright.” They began to move and then the fool stopped. “Wait,” Wyrd have mercy on him, Chaol thought as Dorian turned to Manon. “Dinner, yes?”

She nodded once slowly and Dorian pried himself away and walked toward the witch. Chaol pretended not to notice the muttered goodbyes, or the kiss, before he made his way to the door. When Dorian fell into step next to him, there was a ridiculous smile on his face. With an equally foolish spring in his step, the King kept his grin. “I’ve never been so happy to attend a meeting.”

Happy…

Despite everything, despite his aversion to the Blackbeak, despite disliking the way her wyvern scared the horses, despite having to get Dorian in the morning to attend his meetings, despite the danger the witches posed, Chaol let himself drown in the word.

Happy.

His friend was happy.

 _Dorian was happy_.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	16. 'Need To Know'

Dorian huffed and puffed in obvious effort as he finally reached the entrance to Blackpeak Mountain, the same one the Blackbeak Matron and a good three Blackbeak covens called their homes. As Dorian watched a few wyverns circle above his head before taking off, his horse whinnied. “I know you’re tired,” the King said as he cringed at the sores in his feet. “We’re almost there.”

As soon as they stepped onto a cobbled path, three witches approached, only one of which he recognized. “Hey Ghislaine,” he greeted though his voice caught in his throat as he continued to catch his breath.

The dark-skinned witch sent the other two away before approaching. “The King of Adarlan. I wonder what brings you here.” Her tone was all kinds of sarcastic, but he still thought it over. Blackpeak was close to Adarlan’s capital, coincidence or not, which meant that he and Manon could see each other more often. If she had to go away on a mission she would always tell him and, even then, if he didn’t see her for a day or two he didn’t worry too much.

It had been a total of three days since he had seen her and she had sent no surmise nor a sentinel to let him know why. Dorian admitted that he was overreacting but he had grown used to having her around, so much that he left for the peak as soon as the third day rolled by. It was a ten-hour horse ride to the mountain and he hoped Manon would not send him away.

“Is she here?” He asked while a witch he didn’t recognize took his horse.

Ghislaine began walking. “You should speak with Asterin.”

That was not good news.

All kinds of things went through his mind. “Tell me she’s not hurt.”

Ghislaine sent him an unreadable look and Dorian was starting to panic. “She’s not hurt.”

“But…?”

“Talk to Asterin.”

The young man groaned under his breath, his worry turning to another dark realization. What if she was tired of him? What if she wanted to break their ties? What if she finally realized they wouldn’t- _couldn’t_ have a future together? What if she didn’t _want_ a future with him?

As the thoughts ate away his mind, Ghislaine led him to the wyvern stables where Asterin was tending to her female. Dorian’s eyes immediately went to Abraxos, who opened his eyes as if sensing him. Even the little head bob in greeting that the wyvern gave him couldn’t calm his nerves. Without waiting for Asterin to face him, Dorian pushed past Ghislaine. “Asterin.”

The witch turned to him in surprise, but she didn’t speak up until she finished whatever she was doing. “Dorian,” was the only reply and she tilted her head a bit, looking to Ghislaine in a shared look.

Oh, no.

He was being dumped, wasn’t he?

“What are you doing here?”

The question was so carefully crafted, so suspiciously asked, it made Dorian hesitate. What did she mean ‘what was he doing here’? What kind of question was that? “Um…what?”

“What are you doing here,” she repeated, but there was no intonation to it this time, nothing but a statement.

Dorian frowned. “Where is Manon?” And why was Ghislaine still there? The most cultured of the witches rarely paid any attention to him, except for the times when it involved testing his intellect or his wits.

There it was, another shared look that was slowly driving the King mad. “She is…undisposed at the moment.”

Dorian turned accusing eyes at Ghislaine. “You told me she wasn’t hurt.”

The witch crossed her arms. “She’s not.”

Question marks arose in his head, the confusion so great he switched between the two witches. Dumbfounded, he met Asterin’s eyes. “What is it then?”

“Look,” the blonde began, but then she paused as if searching for words.

He didn’t let her talk. “Where is she? In her room?”

Those gold-flecked eyes said it all and the King sprang toward the hall at the end of the coup, intent on getting to the bottom of this. But Asterin was tight on his heels and he had to remind himself of how fast and silent witches could be. “Hold up, lover boy.”

He didn’t stop, taking the stairs two at a time, glad that he had taken this route so many times he could follow it in the dark. Manon’s Second cursed, muttering things he couldn’t hear as they both broke out into the Thirteen’s set of hallways. Kaya watched them pass her, and the expression on her face meant that she too knew what was going on.

Dorian didn’t make it halfway down the hall when Asterin stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “Stop.”

“What’s going on?” He demanded.

Asterin shook her head, avoiding it, gaining time for…something. “Manon is…”

“Is what?”

The Second shrugged and Dorian found himself in a realm of utter befuddlement. “Is what, Asterin?” He repeated, his voice forced.

“She’s…sick.”

Dorian stopped. Sick? Witches got sick? “How long has she been sick? What does she have?”

The blonde cringed, no doubt going against Manon’s orders to tell him about this. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, she’ll be fine in a couple of days. Just go back home.”

“How do you know that?”

 Asterin didn’t say anything, instead signaling back toward the staircase. Nope, he wasn’t going to leave. Not if Manon was sick and he was so close. Feigning giving up, Dorian nodded and let Asterin go in front of him. Tapping into his magic, it took him no time to make a wall of ice so thick between them it would take her a good hour to even dent it.

More than enough time for him to figure out what the heck was going on.

Asterin yelled something behind the wall, but Dorian paid no mind to it as he walked to Manon’s door. He took a breath and straightened his hair, wishing he wasn’t as dirty as he was after his trek up the mountain. Burying his thoughts, Dorian gave a few knocks on the door. When there was no sound, he wondered if she was in there in the first place. He had seen Abraxos though, she wouldn’t leave without the wyvern, right?

He knocked again, but this time he spoke. “Manon? It’s me, Dorian.” No answer. “Um, you didn’t send me a message or anything so I got w-worried.” Why was he stuttering? Closing his hand in a fist, he calmed his voice. “Asterin told me you were sick? Are you alright?”

He stood there for an agonizingly long minute, twitching at the sounds of the witches as they tried to bring down the ice wall. He knocked for a third time, his voice a little more desperate. “Manon? Just tell me you’re okay and I’ll go.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the door opened and he finally took her in. Half asleep, wearing a long sleeved nightgown he had gifted her the month before, squinting and with wisps of her hair fluttering over her face and shoulders. She didn’t need to speak to let him know that he woke her up.

Asterin was right. Whatever this was, Manon was sick. Even the glare she sent was weak and half-mustered. “What is it.”

Where did he even begin? “Are you okay?” A stupid question and as she stared up at him, Dorian rubbed at his head. “I got worried, it’s been three days. Asterin told me you were sick.”

Manon observed him for a bit and then her eyes slid to the wall, taking in the shouts and the pounding of weapons on the ice. She slowly looked back at him. “Sick?” Her voice was so low, he had trouble hearing her.

“Yes, do you need something? A healer?” Weren’t the twins healers? Why weren’t they helping her?

“Dorian,” his attention went straight back at her. “I’m not sick.”

Her whole condition, the way she held herself, the fact that she had been sleeping in the middle of the day said otherwise. “I’m sorry, but I think you are-”

She breathed out as she rubbed at the spot between her eyes, like she had a headache. “Such a male,” she muttered.

“If you’re not sick then what are you?”

The Blackbeak opened her eyes again, but held them half-mast as if the light bothered her. “What do you think?”

A cold maybe, or perhaps an upset stomach? “I don’t know. Did you eat something funny?”

Her shoulders sagged and he knew she didn’t want to have this conversation with him. “I’m tired,” she told him, “I’m going back to bed.”

“But what’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt?”

She paused mid-turn. “Like I ate glass shards.” Manon looked back at him. “I’ll be fine in the next four-five days. I’ll find you then.”

Why mention the days? Why that specific detail?

…

It took him a second to realize what was wrong, to put it all together.

“Are you bleeding?”

She left the door open as she sat on the edge of her bed, on top of the new expensive mattress he had also gifted her. “Go home, Dorian.”

He was tempted to say that this felt like home. Instead he said, “but this is the first time you’ve been gone for so long.”

“It is different for witches. Humans bleed every month or so, we do not.” Slowly, she lay down and Dorian went inside without hesitating, closing the door so the brightness wouldn’t bother her.

“How long then?”

“Every four or five months. For me it’s every four.”

Something sparked within Dorian, a logic that made him feel foolish. Of course witches bled. They were female, they could have children-wait. “Can I get you pregnant?” He asked, horrified that he had not thought about it before.

Manon raised an eyebrow and he watched as she got comfortable under the sheets. “I’m not a fool. There are a number of simply-made tonics a witch can take. You are not the one who comes out losing if something were to happen.”

But Dorian wasn’t thinking about what she was saying, he was imagining a dangerous thing.

A child… _their_ child-

“What can I do?” Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. “To help you out.”

She barely moved. “Nothing.”

“But there are remedies, right?” He felt so out of touch with this Dorian was starting to get angry at himself. To think this hadn’t even crossed his mind was appalling. “Teas and…stuff?” Those gold eyes let him know how much of his stupidity was seeping through.

“Dorian. Go home.”

He nodded, but not because he agreed with her. “I’ll be back.”

…

This time around, not a single witch stopped him from making his way into the Thirteen’s quarters. Instead, a good half-a-dozen of Manon’s sentinels, including Asterin and Ghislaine watched as he struggled with the items in his hands. After requesting Asterin for a ride to the nearest town market, he bought a number of things, from home-made tonics to ‘special trinkets’ to plain old candy. Something in here would help Manon, he was sure of it.

“Kaya,” Dorian called and the mentioned one raised an eyebrow. “Could you help me make this tea?” The old woman had assured him that it would dampen even the worst menstrual pain.

As Kaya took the ingredients off him, Dorian heard Ghislaine ask Asterin a ‘do males typically do this?’ that the blonde chuckled at. She said something back (*), but low enough that the King couldn’t hear, not that he paid much attention to it, since he was already at Manon’s door.

After Kaya gave him his tea the witches dispersed, letting him open the door to Manon’s room in comfortable silence which was good, because Ghislaine told him Manon would most likely also have a headache. Since it was almost too dark to see, Dorian lit up a candle and sat on the little stool she had in a corner of her room. Manon didn’t move from her spot on the bed, her back to him as he took out a few things, the tea Kaya prepared included.

“Hey, Manon,” he called softly, taking the tea and walking over to her.

She shifted, but only because he touched her shoulder. “Go away.”

Dorian gave a smile instead. “I got you some stuff, here.” Her squint was cute, but he knew that Ghislaine spoke the truth.

“I don’t want anything.”

He observed her for a bit and in a quick motion, placed down the tea and everything else. “Let me try something,” he told her and though her face was all kinds of murder and danger, Dorian carefully placed his fingers on each side of her head, letting his fingers freeze up.

The involuntary sigh that left her mouth was music to his ears and he stoked her temple with the same grin from before. “Better?”

She went for his wrists and he let himself be pried away. “Marginally,” was her answer as she turned to the items he brought. “Is that tea?”

“Yes. The lady who sold it to me promised it would help with the pain.”

“She was probably lying,” Manon responded, but took the tea from him anyway.

Feeling like a happy fool, Dorian grabbed a bag and took out the most expensive item he got at the town, hoping she would like it. “I also got you this.”

Manon’s gold eyes focused on what he was holding. “Chocolate?” The way she said it was really cute, enough that he was tempted to ask her to say other words like ‘strawberry’ or ‘puppy.’

Chuckling, Dorian nodded and handed over the large piece. “It is said to be a natural cure.” She ‘hm’ed a bit and after a drink, took a bite of the chocolate. “Is it okay?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She nodded. “I don’t eat many sweets,” she admitted as she leaned back against the bed’s headboard.

Dorian took that as a sign that he could stay while he sat back on the stool, sorting through the rest of his gifts. He told her quietly about all he got her, remedies, more candy, and even the odd trinket. The witch listened in while taking more sips of the tea and bites of the chocolate. “…and this is for tonight, so it helps you sleep-”

“Dorian.” The King shut up immediately, freezing in the spot as he met her eyes.

“Y-yes?” Please don’t kick me out, he thought.

Manon took her time before speaking. “Thank you.”

His blush was quick and furious to appear, spreading up his neck and face as he sputtered out a ‘you’re welcome’ she smiled at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) Asterin said “only the ones truly in love” to Ghislaine if you’re wondering.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Just a reminder that even though I posted these after the release of EoS, they were written before it came out so if something doesn't make sense keep that in mind.


	17. Disobedience III

_Granddaughter,_

_It has come to my attention that there has been a great misunderstanding between us._

_As heir, I always expected you to understand the reasoning behind my actions._

_I see now that I was wrong. Perhaps we are not as alike as I thought._

_However, despite our disagreements, I would like to make amends. We can become members of the same coven once more if only we spoke._

_Meet me at the following place if you wish to fix what has been broken…_

A meeting. Manon’s grandmother wanted a meeting.

When the surmise arrived, Manon had read it over and over again, analyzing each word, taking in the slopes of the writing, searching for signs of inconsistencies. The older witch had been intent on killing her, sending sentries after her, placing a bounty over her head.

What changed now?

“It’s a trap,” Asterin was saying as she, Sorrel, and Manon spoke in the latter’s bedroom. Both her Second and Third had read the letter, both had come to the same conclusion.

“Why would she assume we would think otherwise?” Sorrel added.

Manon kept quiet. After the fiasco that was Morath, Manon had retreated with her Thirteen and the covens that followed her into a large cave system to the far East, far enough to not be found or tracked. Terrasen had taken over Morath, but reports came about that many of the Valg had fled, including the Duke. Manon’s grandmother had retreated as soon as she heard the army come near.

“My grandmother is a coward, but she is no fool,” Manon replied, circling the table between them. “This letter means something.”

Terrasen had been searching for Duke Perrington’s forces, but he was well-hidden and the invading army had no choice but to regroup and retreat. Not the week before, Manon had spoken to Petra, who made sure to lay clear the Bluebloods would no longer participate in this blood feud. Even when the Duke, a few Blackbeak covens and the Yellowlegs still posed a threat. Even when the weapon was still at large and very much a threat. ***

Manon is convinced that the meeting is a trap, but still feels like it’s the only way to end it all with her grandmother. At the same time there are rumors of Perrington’s experiments continuing with witches that were caught since the split began. A good quarter of Blackbeaks followed Manon’s grandmother, while the others consider Manon the Matron.

A newly recovered Asterin, Sorrel and Manon make their way toward their wyverns while still maintaining a conversation. Asterin does not want Manon to go after their grandmother without first knowing what’s being planned, Sorrel is impartial but tells Manon she will follow whatever she decided to do.

Manon thinks of Adarlan and how Dorian offered to give her and her witches weapons, saddles and whatever else she might need in the fight to come. No soldiers however. Even Terrasen was keeping back, gathering troops and planning ahead.

“Perhaps we should speak with the Terrasen Queen.”

Aelin would not help, not now when her country was still getting used to being ruled once more by a rightful heir. Manon shook her head. “Adarlan will provide us with what we need.”

She would take down her grandmother, with help or not. None of it mattered, especially now that the High Witch still had her hands on that weapon. Asterin passed a hand through her hair. “It will be a trap.”

“Then we shall plan ahead for it.” Turning to her Second, Manon made sure to keep her voice steady. “If our grandmother gets that weapon to work, there will be nothing we can do.”

Terrasen knew of the threat as did Adarlan, but neither seemed concerned, neither understood the calamity it could wreck across the continent, the world. Sorrel was nodding, palming her weapon like they would leave within the hour. “When we stop her, there will be peace.”

“What of the Wastes?” Asterin asked.

Manon watched Abraxos stretch out his wings before laying back down. “I think,” Manon began, “that those lands were never our home.” Surprise lit up her Second and Third’s faces, but neither made an effort to comment. “But we shall see where all this will take us.”

“Do we ready for the meeting?” The Third piped.

It was a bad idea, but it was the only way to ensure-the only way to find her grandmother, who had hidden herself so well. Not a single of Manon’s spies could find even a whisper of her. “We ready for war.”

…

Manon stood next to Abraxos, watching from their position on the mountain side the clearing the meeting was to take place in. There were already a few sentries milling about, their stench a beacon that spread for miles. It was a terrible spot, for both parties, and Manon was sure that was the plan.

There were no signs of the weapon anywhere, but just to make sure Manon ordered a whole coven to patrol around them, to check for anything suspicious. Asterin stepped beside her, her own wyvern close by. “She’s here.”

Indeed, Manon spotted her grandmother from their spot, speaking with a few of the soldiers with a group of five witches guarding her. The witch was ready for war, with her signature staff at her side, her iron teeth glinting as she spoke, barking orders and issuing positions. Manon made no hint to hide away as those gold speckled eyes turned to her.

In her letter, her grandmother wished to ‘make amends.’

Manon did not believe that for a second.

Still, she tried not to send animosity over, but she had learned all she knew from this witch and she was aware they were sizing each other up. Manon was sure her grandmother had thought of her as a threat from the moment Manon had been born and had a strategy to take her out if needed. Before the battle at Morath, when her grandmother had lashed out it had been an emotional attack, nothing controlled or planned about it. It would be harder for Manon to get away this time, not that she was planning to back down and run.

“We’re clear,” Sorrel muttered.

“Let’s go.”

…

“You seem prepared for a battle,” the Matron commented as she surveyed Manon and her Thirteen-most of whom were spread strategically around in the form of a half-moon.

Manon didn’t blink, didn’t give anything away. “We both know you are no stranger to violence.”

“We’ve all made mistakes.” It was the closest thing to an apology Manon would get. Despite the Matron’s uncaring nature when it came to emotional attachments, she had lost a weapon. A being she had honed and trained herself. It was hard to kill when you invested so much time and effort into someone.

The white-haired witch would make sure to play on that. “You said in your letter that you wished to ‘make amends.’ Prove it.”

The Matron didn’t smile, but her lips pulled up in disapproval. Despite the blatant disrespect, she spoke. “There is nothing to gain by being separated, granddaughter. What do we gain from an internal struggle like this when we have the power to destroy and conquer.” The older witch’s eyes narrowed. “All this is simply unnecessary.”

If Manon had been anyone else, she would have barked out a laugh. Instead she crossed her arms, “if only you had felt the same way three weeks ago.”

“Insolent-” Manon’s eyes flashed, but the Matron wasn’t looking at her. Trying to calm herself, the High Witch smoothed her features, her eyes going back to her granddaughter. “This ‘discussion’ is pointless. Let us reclaim our lands, Manon.”

Asterin growled low beside Manon. “She needs us,” the blonde muttered.

Manon didn’t show that she heard, or even acknowledged the comment. “How can you expect to lead the Blackbeaks, if you consistently lie to your own heir?”

“What?” The Matron’s hand twitched, her nails poised for a strike. Manon had never spoken to her in this way.

As an equal.

“You hid things from me.”

“You cannot expect me to tell you _everything_ that happens within _every_ single coven-”

“I know what you did to Asterin.”

There it was, Manon thought, the showing of teeth. But the rage was directed at Manon’s cousin. “I should have killed you myself.”

“Try it,” Asterin shot back, her teeth on display as well.

Manon placed a hand in front of Asterin and her Second backed off immediately, the action a ruse made on purpose, to show their grandmother that her control over them was over. “I offer you a deal,” Manon said.

The High Witch snorted, the insubordination threatening to break out her true character. If Manon or any of her Thirteen had spoken to her in this way before, there would probably be no Thirteen…or an heir. “A deal.”

“Our goal was to reclaim our kingdom, but Perrington has different plans. What does he truly want out of all this?”

“Information.” The High Witch nodded. “In exchange for what?”

“Our allegiance.”

The Matron was stiff as she spoke. “Allegiance.’ What does that mean exactly?”

“We will help you reclaim our kingdom, but once that is done, we will be free to go our separate ways.”

“If these were older times you would be publicly lynched.”

Manon didn’t react, keeping her face neutral. “Good thing they are not.”

The silence was jarring, neither witch refusing to back down, to look away. The wind changed direction, giving Manon a taste of the northern valleys. The smell of freedom beyond the Valg stench.

“Foolish girl,” her grandmother said. Those gold-speckled eyes closed once. “So be it.”

A screeching sound spread through the valley like a clash of swords, making all the witches step back and go for their ears. It was the first of a calculated attack that left Manon wondering how long it had been planned for. Valg soldiers burst from under the ground and sides of the ravine, dozens-no-a hundred.

This was set to be a massacre.

Since their hearing was compromised, Manon made a signal with her hand. As one the Thirteen rose, revealing weapons in smooth movements, taking up defensive positions around Manon. The mentioned one noticed how he grandmother removed fabric from her ears. It had all been a set-up. Manon wasn’t sure how to feel, but she was not surprised.

Perhaps a deep, childish part of her had...hope.

Signaling her focus, reigning in her fury, Manon palmed wind cleaver as she met eyes with a number of soldiers heading her way. Ignoring the lack of sound, or the warm liquid falling from her ears, the Wing Leader signals once more. Attack.

Clashing with the soldiers was a wondrous feeling, a thrill in finally taking action against the soldiers who had lived among her sentinels, the ones who had taken Elide.

Slowly, sound returned to her, honing her already volatile temper into a weapon of mass destruction. As she slashed through limbs and black blood, she caught Sorrel beside her, and Asterin a few feet to her left. This was what she lived for, Manon thought, to hackle and slice and destroy.

The soldiers were falling left and right, not a single one could stand against her Thirteen. Not even her grandmother could stop them-

The High Witch raised her arm, slinking out of the way of Thea’s blade, letting other witches protect her like the worm she was.

And then the Duke appeared-and locked eyes with Manon, smiling like he knew a secret.

…

The first of the creatures materialized as if from the mist itself, darkness seeping out of it, death incarnate despite the fact that Manon knew exactly what it was. The spawn of the witches and the Valg, creatures that were no more witch than the rock they stood on, abominations that reeked and clogged noses. A few of Manon’s witches took steps back as a good dozen of them followed in. They were physically clumsy, but their power was suffocating.

Manon took charge, engaging with the spawn in a splash of darkness, easily sidestepping to avoid a swipe to her head. Honing Wing Cleaver, she grabbed on with both hands and sliced clean through the creature’s body, watching as the halves crumpled to the ground. Immediately she engaged with two others, nodding to Vesta as she joined her side.

There was a grunt and a thud, but Manon couldn’t afford to look away from her own opponents, trusting her witches to fight for themselves. As Manon slashed through another of the creatures, Vesta stepped close. “Look!”

The white-haired witch turned to the north, just as soon as the Duke laughed. A surge of darkness leaked out from his hands, and Briar screamed as it hit her. “Delta move three!”

As the twins took back Briar, the rest of the Thirteen formed a strategic circle around them in groups of two, Manon herself taking form beside Asterin as her cousin hacked down a creature’s leg. A whistle from Sorrel was enough to alert the wyverns, who along with Abraxos, swooped down in a mix of screeches and wingbeats.

The Matron’s own wyverns clashed with the Thirteen’s and Manon had enough time to glance at how Abraxos engaged with a wyvern twice his size. With a growl, Manon signaled once more, having her Second and Third follow her, up to where the Duke was-to where her grandmother was.

Perrington saw her coming, but his smile merely widened. She smiled back, making sure her iron teeth were visible, letting him get a good look at the black goop on her cleaver.

“Come now Wing Leader,” he told her, “let us see how powerful you truly are.”

Manon didn’t answer, but she kept staring, letting the Duke know that she would hack him apart the second she had the opportunity. From behind him, two Princes stood, both handsome, both wearing collars on their neck. It took Manon no time to figure out that these beings were going to attack her.

As they jumped down, others did the same. Ten if she counted right.

More than they had planned for.

The darkness ate up the whole ravine, turning day into night as screams erupted all around. Manon tried to locate the positioning of her Thirteen, to reconsider their strategy.

She dodged the attack before it came, stepping back and swiping Wing Cleaver. “Wing Leader,” the Prince said, smiling charmingly as he looked at her. It took her a second to realize that there were three on her.

Asterin was forced back. “Manon!”

Grunting at the hit on her side, the mentioned one swung and weaved, glancing back in order to find backup. But she was far away, the soldiers and the other Princes pushing back at her witches, getting them away from her. This attack. This wasn’t a killing mission, she realized.

The wyverns were screeching and moaning, she could tell some had retreated. The darkness was to get them out of the way first. There were also ten Princes but four were surrounding her, which meant she was a main target.

They didn’t want to kill her.

Manon avoided another hit and she jumped over the shortest of the Valg, but still managed to get nicked on the shoulder by a swipe from him. Crashing into the ground, Manon rolled unto her back making a Prince miss a kick to her stomach, but not being able to do the same for the second one. Grunting, she dropped Wind Cleaver as she went for the boot and for once noticed the blue blood on her hands, the splotches she left behind on the floor.

As she struggled against the strength of the Valg, the Duke made his way toward them.

“Good job.”

There is a sound like thunder and Manon thinks back, to the letter, to her planning, to the moment they entered the ravine.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of course it had been a trap.

But when she had spoken to her Thirteen they had surmised that either one side perished or the other did. They had planned to conquer or die trying. But as the Duke looked down upon her, she knew there had been another plan brewing. A third outcome, one that did not involve the death or annihilation of a side.

Her grandmother had said that they would be in the same coven once they spoke, what had not been said was that Manon would have a choice in the matter.

“Do it now.”

A quick blow to the side of the head knocked her out.

…And she woke up gasping, pain lacing up her head and arms. Manon can tell she’s being dragged somewhere, somewhere dark, possibly underground. As her pants scrape against the rock floor, torches follow her movement-the shadows flickering past, helping her eyes adjust to the darkness.

With a surge of strength Manon rose up, blindly fighting against the two Valg soldiers holding her arms. Two more get on her immediately, enough to smash her face first into the ground. As she struggles, Manon hears a thick growl over the ringing in her ears. “Stubborn girl, I should have known better.”

Her grandmother, and even though Manon can’t raise her head to look up, she can feel and _smell_ the Duke nearby, too. “She will do some good soon enough,” he said. “Stand her up.”

Against her will, with otherworldly force, the soldiers drag her forward and both her grandmother and the duke observed her closely. The older witch smiled. “You’ve always been too wild. Letting your emotions cloud your judgement. Just like your stupid mother.”

Spitting out blood, Manon made sure to meet that gaze head on. “I’ll make sure you suffer a death so horrible you beg me for it.”

With a snarl, the High Witch grabbed at her face, her nails digging in so hard blood was drawn. “Soon enough, you’ll be nothing but obedient.”

Over her dead cooling corpse.

No more is said as her grandmother starts walking and Manon can’t hold back the Valg who drag her forward once again, toward a large iron door at the end of the hall. The same door opens up preternaturally and the sound is the first thing that assaults her. Screams of pain and agony, voices begging to be released-to be killed. The second thing the Blackbeak notices is the smell, of blood, and gore and pain. The thick scent of fear and terror letting her know just how much she needed to get out.

She knew exactly where she was.

Livestock. That’s what her grandmother had reduced her too.

Inside, not one of the Valg workers looked at them, continuing with their inhuman work, torturing naked witches on stone slabs, some with small bellies, others with large ones. A few, she could tell, were dead, having already given birth and not survived the ordeal. Her body iced over when she recognized one of those witches. “Imogen!”

“Hold her.”

Roaring, Manon broke away from the Valg to her left, running to her sentinel, but being stopped halfway. The witch looked at her sadly, but didn’t scream or try to fight back, didn’t reach for Manon as the white-haired witch did to her. She had already given up the fight. And knew exactly what fate awaited her Wing Leader.

“No!”

Manon’s grandmother intervened with a snarl, going up to her and grabbing her by the throat as four soldiers held her down, enough that her left wrist twisted violently. A crack followed. “Loyalty. Obedience. Brutality,” the Matron tells her. “That is all I ever expected from you.” Manon spit out a curse over both what was being said and her broken wrist. “That is what you will be.”

As she is placed back on her feet, Manon surveyed the room, looking for others, feeling her chest clench as she recognized Kaya, Thea…feeling how her emotions burst through the cracks in her walls, cracks she didn’t know existed until this very moment.

Three of the soldiers fall dead in no time, Manon moving so fast her head stops hurting, her ears stop ringing. But her broken wrist is useless, and there are too many of the Valg. They corner her again, dropping her on her knees in front of her grandmother who was surveying the carnage in disapproval. Let the High Witch kill her for it, Manon thought, let her end it all. Unable to move, Manon’s grandmother looks toward the side.

“Bring in the other one. I want her to see this.”

Manon groans out, in frustration and desperation, but no one looks at her and the many hands on her only grip tighter. Someone kicked the back of her legs, dropping her unto her knees making her notice how the light in front of her fixed on a single slab, a number of chains around it. She couldn’t stop them, only stall, as they placed her upon it. Soon then, they will start to impregnate, unless she did something-anything.

“Manon!”

The sound caused her to let out a ragged breath and as the chains were placed, Manon found herself staring right into the gold-speckled eyes of her second. Asterin shakes her head, chained from head to toe-bloody and torn, but alive. “Asterin-”

“Enough.”

The Duke himself stands before her, blocking his view of Asterin, placing a freezing hand on her forehead and another on her neck. “Let us begin.”

“Watch closely,” she hears her grandmother say, possibly to Asterin.

Not like this.

She was not going down like this.

“Relax,” she’s told and the tight chains on her arms draw blood as she pulls at them. The Duke pays no mind to her struggle, his hand now around her throat. “Bring them over.”

Something clinks as the order is followed and Manon begins to feel her breathing quicken, her blood pounding in her ears. There was a way-there **had** to be a way out of this. With his free hand the Duke brings out something that makes Asterin yell out. A series of pleas and ‘no’s that Manon can’t understand, not until her eyes fall on the collar in the Duke’s hand.

She pauses and her grandmother moves closer. “Do you think I would reduce you to a measly breeding mare?” The witch reaches down, moving hair away from Manon’s face. “You will obey me.”

But Manon felt calm all over. She knew.

Those Princes, they couldn’t control her. A collar would change nothing; her eyes were her power. They had a better chance at killing her-

The Duke began placing things next to her. Two collars, then four more-smaller ones. For her hands and feet.

No.

Then even smaller ones. She counted ten. For each finger.

Asterin was begging on her spot on the ground, her words a jumbled mess of incoherencies. Sobs raked her, joining in with the chorus in the background. But there was nothing Asterin could do. Nothing, Manon was realizing, she herself could do.

“This will not hurt,” the Duke said as he took one of the collars and walked to the end of the slab. “Much.”

The first collar snapped closed on her left ankle and Manon was immediately pulled into darkness. A male, disemboweled voice invaded her mind.

_Wing Leader._

_Wing Leader._

_Manon._

She fought immediately and the thing screeched and hollered at her. She could destroy it, she realized, like Kaltain she could fight-

The second and third collar were placed, on her other ankle and her right wrist.

The blast of power was overwhelming and she felt herself lose touch with her legs, up to her knees. Instinct drove her, attacking the foreign entities with immortal strength as if the goddess herself was providing assistance. There was a maze of darkness, but she had been born within it, raised as a weapon-the chain holding her right hand snapped.

“Strong girl,” she heard the Duke say, far away-muddled.

Another collar was placed and then her grandmother touched at her neck. “Two more.”

_Witchling._

_Your mind is ours._

_Your soul is null._

Fear settled in, deep and unforgiving and so strong Manon balked-sinking into a corner into her mind so far away the Princes inside the two collars on her neck had no trouble tearing down her walls, searching through her memories, tormenting and screeching.

_You are nothing now._

_A vessel._

_The eyes of the Valg Kings are nothing-_

_Against so many of us._

A scream, she was screaming-in her head, outside she didn’t know.

“Shush now,” her grandmother said, whispered it right in her ear.

And she saw her mouth close, saw herself rise.

But she was still screaming.

…

Dorian shook his head, his heart beating furiously in his chest as the Duke smiled as he overlooked the battlefield. Three of the weapons were down, the mixed army of Terrasen and the Bluebloods doing the Wyrd’s work in taking down Valg soldiers. Magicians and Fae helping in to prevent the Princes from using their mental abilities. Blackbeaks arriving in the nick of time, providing assistance where needed. No Thirteen or Manon, but Dorian wasn’t worried about that.

The Duke was smiling, however.

“Perhaps it is time,” the Blackbeak Matron barked and Dorian watched her jump up from the battle, landing gracefully on a platform holding one of the large mirrors next to the Duke. “My heir can turn this around.”

Dorian stopped, not understanding the words. Heir? Did she mean Manon or had she named someone else? If it was Manon, had she decided to rejoin her grandmother? After all the struggle from before, after the betrayal? It was true that contact with the Thirteen and good number of the Blackbeaks had been severed, no signs of the wyverns or sentinels, but this couldn’t be the reason, could it?

“Come now.”

A shockwave burst through the ground followed by a stream of darkness so deep, Aelin and Rowan had trouble dispersing it. The power was enormous, whatever controlled it fueled by fury so large, it was borderline incomprehensible. “What is it?!” Aelin asked as she brightened up the area, the fire she usually mastered looking more like a candle.

Rowan shook his head as he took out two soldiers. “I can’t tell, it’s too clouded.”

There was no need to wait though, as the darkness dispersed even though the shaking of the ground continued, black sparks flying every which way. And with each step Manon Blackbeak gave, pebbles flew, leaves fell, and people backed away.

“No.”

“By the Wyrd,” Rowan whispered as his eyes narrowed.

Aelin took in a breath. “How many?”

“Six, but those rings.”

Dorian looked her over, two collars on her neck, another at the end of each of her extremities and as the creatures controlling the Blackbeak heir raised her hand, he could see a ring on each finger.

“Get out of the way!” Rowan yelled out, his wind moving people and wyverns to the side.

Despite his effort, a thick wall of black sprouted from Manon’s fingertips, cutting the ground, destroying trees and grass, and taking out a dozen soldiers in the way, witches included. Dorian fell to the ground, his knees buckling as people screamed. Manon slowly lowered her hand and her grandmother went to step next to her.

The eyes.

The Wing Leader’s eyes were black as coal.

“Can we take her?” Aelin muttered.

“We need a distraction.”

Was that how he looked under the control of the Valg? Hollow and…dead? Manon had circles under her eyes and the visible skin was pale, the veins on her inner wrist visible where the collars didn’t cover.

The Duke was laughing, sounding nothing human and very much monster as he placed a hand on Manon’s shoulder. “Again!”

The Blackbeak’s eye twitched, but she followed through, raising her hand once more.

“She’s in there, she must be,” Dorian said, obsessively noting every twitch, every flinch she produced.

“The witch has six Valg Princes and ten soldiers within her,” Rowan rebutted, while Aelin threw around orders, changing tactics to better suit this new threat.

“She helped me.”

They shared a look and Rowan kept his face impassive. “ _It_ will kill you.” Not a ‘she’ because Manon wasn’t in control.

“We can find a way to break the collars.”

Rowan shook his head, his anger being released into the wind to try and deflect another black wave. “There is no way.”

Dorian stood up and was about to say that there surely **was** a way when something else caught his attention, actually a few somethings. A half dozen witches were running toward him, all of which he recognized. Dirty and looking like they received a heavy beating, but alive, Asterin stepped right next to them. “She’s in there, somewhere deep, but she’s _in_ there.”

Sorrel, the Third he remembered, looked at Asterin with some concern, but her voice was steady as she spoke. “There is a lot of power there, she needs to rest between blasts.”

Dorian’s eyes went for Manon, who had placed her hand back down and surely enough, her body swayed a bit to the side, the Duke giving her a look which suggested he was aware. “We get to her when she needs to rest,” Dorian heard himself say, “then we’ll take off the collars.”

Rowan didn’t speak, his eyes were on the witch-reading her movements, learning the patterns. Chaol, who ran up from the middle of the battlefield seemed to have heard what Dorian had said. “If we distract her we can get close and one of us can cut off her head.”

A chorus of growls broke through over the sounds of the battle and the former Captain slinked back, but did not back down. “No, we’ll get to her,” Asterin said as she gripped the sword in her hand. “Give us an opportunity to get close and we get her.”

Aelin reappeared while Rowan kept staring. “I’ve tried that before, even if Manon is in there, you won’t be able to reach her.”

“Not unless we break at least some of the collars,” Rowan added, his eyes still on Manon.

Asterin groaned in exasperation, her worry palpable while the other witches looked toward the battle-toward their Wing Leader. “Aelin,” Dorian began, catching the Queen’s attention. “With our magic, could it be possible to burn the collars off?”

“Maybe, but I would probably burn the skin right off.”

Rowan glanced at him. “Perhaps your magic. The ice might be able to break through, if you concentrate enough.”

Maybe. Perhaps. Might be.

These were not words Dorian wanted to hear. Sorrel stepped next to him. “If you agree, we’ll protect you while you try.” He knew what she meant. The witches were aware that there was a big possibility that Manon was gone, but they were willing to die trying.

“Okay.”

…

His hands were on her, getting on top as she fought against the hold from the others. Asterin was calling her name, telling her to fight back, to try and stay still. Dorian concentrated on his task, willing his power to coat his hands in ice and slowly placing them on the upper collar on Manon’s neck.

A burst of energy came out of her, and Dorian felt cuts from debris rain around him. “I know you’re in there,” he told her while those black, soulless eyes met his. “Help me help you.”

One of her hands found his wrist and Dorian yelled out in pain as her grip tightened. Sorrel tried to pry her away, but Manon was too strong. Dorian could feel the collar struggle to keep itself together as the cold became more intense. Asterin, Sorrel and the others were talking to her, sharing memories, telling her they cared-that they loved her.

Dorian groaned but didn’t let go of the collar. “You can do it,” he muttered, feeling the first crack in the stone, “fight it.”

The first collar broke, cutting at his fingers, sending a ripple of darkness through them, pushing them back. But everyone was immediately back on track, Dorian once again placing his hands on the second collar, willing his magic to take over. Manon’s other hand went for his left wrist and Dorian let out another groan of pain. The witches couldn’t pry her fingers off and for the first time, Manon spoke.

“ ** _She is gone_**. **_We devoured her very soul. The witch is no more. Her spirit lies within the realms of old. The Kings feast on her being_**.”

It was not her voice, not like anything he had ever heard before. It was something old and alien and bleak. A monster in the flesh. “Manon,” he said, feeling as the bone in his right hand slowly cracked. “Help me.”

The creature growled and Dorian cried out again. But the grip actually lessened and those black eyes flashed gold. Sure he had imagined it, Dorian didn’t address it, but Asterin had seen it, getting right in Manon’s face.

“You are stronger than they. Fight back, hold out!”

The collar broke and Manon let out a gasp before yelling out.

“ ** _No!_** ”

The witches were on her again, while Dorian scrambled to his feet, going for the leg closest to him. A blast of darkness shot out of her hand, narrowly missing his arm, but surely causing destruction behind him. He paid no mind to the Duke or the Blackbeak Matron, both of whom were trying to get to them, both of whom were being held back by the Queen and Rowan.

It was easier to break the one on her other ankle, easier to hold her down.

“Just a little more,” he heard Sorrel say, “hold still a little longer.”

Someone grunted, but Manon pulled through, her body trembling at the struggle no doubt happening within her mind. As he moved to one of her hands, Dorian chanced a look at her face. Gold sparkled through, the color brightening with each passing second. Dizzy at the focus, the King grabbed the fifth collar, hoping her hand wouldn’t flash out and strike him in the neck.

But the stone wasn’t breaking and Dorian struggled to keep the power contained. “It’s not working,” he gasped as the black band itself seemed to fight back in order to protect itself. Sorrel cursed.

Once again, Dorian looked up-only to meet pitch black staring right back. “ ** _Death will be your only release_**.”

All of them were blown back, the force so great, Dorian barely had time to send out a shield of ice to protect himself. As he fell unto his back, Manon got to her feet. Tired and drained he watched as she pointed her hand at him. “ ** _Foolish boy._** ”

But nothing came out and Manon stiffened, the only sign of power a small spark that crackled from her fingertips. A deep groan _, in her voice_ , sounded and Dorian found himself scampering to his feet as Manon fell on her knees. Her eyes closed as a she placed her hands on her head.

The witches went beside her, but Dorian got there first, placing a hand on the collar around her right wrist. It broke as easily as paper and he grabbed her hand, splaying her fingers in an effort to take out the rings-but they were breaking off on their own, black dust being swept away by the wind in timed motions. A look to her other hand showed the same thing, the last one breaking apart after two cracks.

Manon sagged, Asterin catching her as she crumpled to the ground. Turning her around, even Dorian sighed in relief as pure gold shown from her eyes. “Hey,” Asterin whispered as she wiped away stray blood from her Wing Leader’s face.

“Asterin…”

He had never heard something more beautiful, not an instrument, not a bird song, not even his own mother’s voice when he was a child and had woken up from a nightmare.

“Get me up.”

His thoughts stopped right there and he was beside them in an instant. “Everything’s being taken care of,” he told her carefully, “you don’t have to fight.”

Their eyes met and recognition flashed through hers, as if she knew he had helped her. “My grandmother-”

“We understand,” Sorrel told her, giving Dorian a look that spoke a clear ‘do not intervene’ he was reluctant to obey.

Slowly, Manon rose to her feet, her witches beside her. Six of them, he counted, only six of her Thirteen remained. “Attack flank three,” the Wing Leader ordered, her voice like fine iron. Feeling as the strain of his magic took his toll, Dorian watched as the Blackbeak Matron and a few Yellowleg witches turned to them.

The clash was instantaneous, and he marveled at how Manon handled herself after being in control of the Valg. She was so strong, he thought, as she slashed through an opponent with brutal accuracy. What would happen once all this was over? Once Erawan and the High Witch were gone?

Aelin and Rowan had separated the duo, letting Manon and the remaining members of her Thirteen take care of the High Witch, while they went for the Duke.

Dorian stood up as a Valg soldier approached him. Breathing out, the King palmed his sword, testing the weight as he prepared to engage. It was easy to defend himself, despite the strain on his magic, the changed tone in the battlefield gave him strength. As he took down a pair of soldiers, Dorian couldn’t help but glance at the fight happening between the witches.

Manon and her grandmother were caught in a clash that would be sung about for generations, the way they moved and danced around each other a clear evidence of the same type of upbringing. The rest of the Thirteen were around them, keeping soldiers back, letting Manon take care of her grandmother alone.

It was mesmerizing to watch as nails flashed around each other, the Matron’s teeth out as she tried to catch her granddaughter off-guard. But Manon was fast-and she had a score to settle, evidenced by the way she sent a blow that could cripple grown men. The grandmother collapsed, perhaps because she wasn’t as trained, or motivated.

Manon moved with deathly grace, reading her opponent’s moves seemingly before they happened, dodging and avoiding with the flexibility of a ghost leopard. The High Witch knew what was going on, which is why she tried to move back, why she held up her arm as the Wing Leader was about to give the final blow.

“Manon,” she breathed and though Manon stopped it wasn’t in hesitation. There was no emotion on her face, but calculated rage. “I beg of you, let me live.”

The heir bared her teeth, stepping closer, her bloodied hand loose on her Wing Cleaver. “You would grovel for your life?”

The Matron nodded, on her knees now, her hands raised in penitence. “Have mercy.”

Manon breathed out and as she got closer and closer to her grandmother, she spoke up. “Obedience. Discipline. Brutality.” A pause and the Matron did not move, only muttering things. “And yet you ask for mercy?”

“Please.”

Manon surveyed the battle field, the way Aelin and Rowan fought Erawan. They were winning. “Asterin.”

Her Second came up beside her, her eyes and hair as wild as the wyvern she rode upon. Her eyes were on the Matron, but there was no discernible emotion there, only a mix of things that Dorian couldn’t identify. Manon signaled forward. “Do what you want.”

The High Witch, in her dirty-torn clothes, her hair a mess, her eyes opaque-shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Asterin glanced at her new Matron, waiting for a second confirmation. When Manon nodded, the blonde turned back to their grandmother. Asterin tested her sword as she stepped forward. The High Witch had no time-no way to defend herself-

As Asterin drove her blade through her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Disobedience series comes to a close with this one. It was nice to see it sometimes came close to canon. I'm happy my portrayal of these characters isn't too far off. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	18. Yulemas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual themes

“So what do you want to do first? Go to the lake? Have a picnic in the gardens? Ride horses across the valley?” Dorian thought it over, tapping his chin with his hand as he walked. “Or maybe we should just stay in bed all day and eat sweets. What do you think?”

Manon merely stared at him, not really caring what they did or didn’t do. Since the King kept quiet, she crossed her arms. “Whatever you want.”

Dorian clicked his tongue as he went for her hand, and the witch let him tangle their fingers as he lead her toward the main part of the castle in the middle of the fort. “It’s going to be Yulemas tomorrow, we have to make it special.”

She didn’t celebrate human customs, but he already knew that. “Not horses,” she said, her eyes on their joined hands, on how freely they did this now.

“Alright, no riding horses across the valley. That still leaves us with three options.”

Manon shrugged. “It is your celebration. You pick.”

Witches didn’t really have holidays, unless you counted the days where there were black moons or eclipses. Even then these days changed nothing in their routine, just a few minutes to watch. Dorian smiled as he turned to her, stroking her fingers absentmindedly as he spoke. “If we go to the lake, will you get in with me?”

The Wing Leader turned to the sky, reading the clouds and wondering how much sun she could handle. It was winter in the north, but Dorian had decided to spend the holiday in the lands to the far south, where it was hot and humid. It was already afternoon, spending it in the lake seemed pleasant. “If that is what you want.”

Dorian breathed out and stepped in front of her. “You know, not everything should be ‘what I want’ or what I ‘pick.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s your holiday, not mine.”

“It’s everyone’s holiday,” he countered, “if they want to celebrate it they can.”

“Do you want to go to the lake?”

There was a second or two of silence before Dorian got close enough to share breath, stopping their walking. “I’d go to the sewers if you were there with me.”

Her face was impassive. “That would be foolish.”

His smile was charming and Manon tried not to distract herself within it. “Let’s go to the lake then.”

The lake was about an hour walk from the fort they were staying in, a small castle that Dorian’s family had owned for generations, but that he rarely ever went to. It was a secluded, private place with minimum security and a whole stable for Abraxos since there were barely any horses. The staff were thrilled to see their King after so long and had even received Manon with similar respect.

No guards or soldiers followed the couple to the lake-nor any sentinels. Both Manon and Dorian had made sure to take their leave in secret, only leaving behind letters to their respective seconds as evidence that nothing bad had happened and not to worry. Any business was taken care of too, at least for the time being. It was a ‘vacation’ Dorian told her, something for the two of them alone. Only for a month and only for them.

“We can leave our stuff on that rock over there.” Manon nodded, but only because he seemed to need the reassurance. It was odd how Dorian’s confidence dwindled when they finally arrived to this place. Like he was waiting for her to get tired and leave.

As they placed their belongings on a large boulder with a smooth surface, the King turned to her. “This is fine, right? We’re…good?”

Manon met his gaze. “Are you regretting inviting me here?”

It was a tease, but Dorian still flinched. “Never.” He cleared his throat. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Taking off your shirt might help.”

He laughed, but it was breathless. She could smell the nerves on him building up, but she couldn’t think of a why. “My shirt, huh?” He muttered, and Manon smirked a bit as Dorian took off the upper half of his tunic, giving her a nice view of his chiseled chest. He was lovely to look at, that was for sure. Catching her eyes, the King went for the string on his pants. “What about this?”

Manon leaned back against the rock, feigning indecision. “If you wish to risk losing your clothing to bandits then be my guest.” They both knew there was no risk of bandits here.

Dorian’s smile remained. “Bandits, huh? I guess it wouldn’t be _that_ bad to walk back to the castle half naked.” When she didn’t give him a reply, Dorian shrugged and slowly shook out of his pants. When he was finally free of extra clothing, he walked toward the edge of the lake’s crystalline water, but paused before he entered.

“Are you going to join me or…?” He trailed off as he sent Manon a little grin.

The white-haired witch pretended to think about it, even though she told him she was going to join him not a few hours before. After making sure there were no people around, Manon reached for her shirt, taking it off in a swift motion and pointedly ignoring Dorian’s appreciative looks as she did the same with her pants. He waited until she walked next to him before going for her hands and slowly leading her toward the water.

“You ever do this before?” He wondered as Manon noted the water’s temperature. Not too hot or cold-pleasant.

“I don’t usually go into water unless it is for bathing.”

His smile was radiant, and she thought of how blinding the sun was and how it didn’t quite reach Dorian’s splendor. “I really like this,” he told her as they went to the center of the lake. It was almost to her neck, but Manon didn’t mind as there was no current and the water was nice. “It’s peaceful,” Dorian added.

She agreed, but didn’t speak back, observing their surroundings, making sure they were truly alone. “Hey,” he called and she slowly turned to him, watching as he placed a hand on her waist. “There’s no one but us here.”

Manon let him get close, let him touch her. “Just making sure.”

“Do you always do that?”

A raised eyebrow. “Check our surroundings for possible threats? Of course.”

Dorian nodded, but it seemed like he was agreeing to something else. “How about,” he offered as he went for her braid, untangling it as he spoke, “we swim for a bit?”

She tilted her head. “You know how to swim?”

His grin matched her mood. “Do you?”

As a response, Manon pushed him back, smirking at his bark of protest before going underwater. When she surfaced at the other end of the lake, Dorian crossed his arms. “That’s not fair, I wasn’t done.”

Manon thumbed her hair, still halfway into a braid. “Not everything in life is free, _princeling_.”

The King took in a breath before he copied her movements, going underwater and taking a significantly longer time to get to where she was than it took herself. She had to bite her inner cheek to keep the smile from coming up as he surfaced a few feet in front of her. “How in the Wyrd did you hold your breath for so long?”

Manon shrugged, approaching him like she would an enemy. “You’re a human,” she told him and there was an underlying ‘what else did you expect?’ that he frowned playfully at.

“Good thing we’re on the same side then.”

“Are we?”

His answer was to grab at her, lifting her up and laughing when she protested. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Interesting.” It wasn’t. “Now put me down.”

He chuckled again and she had to steady herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. Theoretically, she could fight to get out of his hold, but that would involve hurting him and even she had to admit that she had gotten rather…fond…of this little King. “Put your legs around me.”

Prick.

“Dorian-”

“It’s just us here,” he argued, “let’s have some fun.” He touched at her thighs, urging her to do as he said, and only because it was a ‘holiday’ and they were indeed alone did she heed to the request. Dorian actually moaned, and Manon flinched back at the sound, not fully understanding the reason why.

She figured he wanted to kiss her, so she lowered her head and met their lips. Within the lip-lock he whispered a ‘keep doing this’ she was actually happy to agree to-until he lowered them into the water. Just as they were about to go underneath she broke off, but his hand was right at the back on her head. “I’ve never done this, let me try it.”

Ah, she understood now. “Such a male,” she told him, but let him guide her to his mouth again. The smile Dorian gave her against her lips was testament enough, especially as he took them underwater.

…

It was deep into the night when Dorian awoke, letting out a quiet breath as he gathered his bearings and let his eyes get used to the darkness. Right, he was at the southern fort spending Yulemas with Manon, not back at Rifthold in the now stone castle.  

The mentioned one was seemingly asleep next to him, close but not as close as he wanted her. An idea popped into his mind, and he wondered if she would be up for a little game. Taking initiative, Dorian slowly moved his hand over her back, lifting up the thin shirt she was wearing and stroking the skin softly. She shifted but didn't stop him and Dorian felt a lick of delight as he moved over her, sneakily placing his knee between her legs, leaning down to press a kiss on her shoulder. It had taking him quite a bit of time to get to this level of comfortableness around her, but it was completely worth it.

The King lowered his whole body, enjoying the warmth she gave off despite the fact that many thought her cold. "Dor-"

"Shh," he told her, nuzzling the cheek she turned to the side, letting his hands roam a bit as she moved herself further into up into the pillow. "Stay still," he mumbled and the little huff she gave made him smile.

Making sure she didn't move, Dorian slowly spread her legs and when his hands rode up her shirt she arched a bit. "Cold?"

Manon's hands came up, but she didn't use them to lift herself. "I was sleeping."

"Hmm," he mumbled as he took off his underwear and sat up. He had been counting on it, since she was more malleable when she was tired. "I like this view."

She growled, but didn't stop him from lowering her own underwear, which meant she was up for whatever he was engineering. He could have moaned at the sight she produced and entertained the thought that only he had access to this-to her.

The King began to bring about his plan with a slow massage, testing out how she reacted, wanting to hear something. Manon was rather quiet during sex, even though most of the time she liked to lead and maintain control. The only thing letting Dorian know she was enjoying herself was the way her breathing hitched and faltered within the love making. He had read that massaging and doing other certain things could bring out more sounds and he had been dying to try it for months.

As his thumbs caressed along the sides of her spine, he felt her tense up. "Relax," he whispered, admiring how lean her back muscles were, how the faint scarring that spanned her back was practically invisible in the dim moonlight.

It took him a bit, but after a few minutes Manon finally let herself loosen up against the sheets by the way her breathing smoothed down and her head made a deeper imprint on the pillow. With a grin, Dorian stroked along her back, to her sides-counting every rib-back up to her neck, and then down toward the small of her back.

Farther down his palms went, to one of the few spots where he knew very well how she was soft as silk.

Her breathing hitched a bit, but it wasn't what he was looking for so Dorian kept at it, urging her to spread her legs a bit more, to let him accommodate himself between them. It took him no time to have her moving against his fingers, hardly enough time to hold himself from ravishing her right there and then. Holding his inner beast back, Dorian went back to the massage, giving them a bit more leisure time before that sweet final joining.

After making sure she was ready to go, the King savored the moment for a second before pushing in. He groaned into her back, but all Manon did was close her fist on the sheets. She smelled so good, it was hard to remember what he was trying to achieve and Dorian closed his eyes while he calmed himself down. This was for her this time-not him.

With newfound resolve, the King moved slowly, making sure he hit as deep as he could, observing every little twitch-every movement of the head. When they were both panting despite the slowness, he moved his hand under her stomach. “Lift your hips.”

Her surprise was palpable as she was the one who usually gave orders. But he palmed her stomach, urging her up and leaving a kiss on the center of her upper back as a thank you when she acquiesced. Dorian bit back a groan when he moved again, the position more pleasurable, easier to move. As soon as his speed was enough, as soon as he knew she was into it as much as he, the young man stopped.

“What are-”

“Shh,” he told her again, removing himself and touching her side, getting her to turn on her back and moving up to kiss her lips.

Manon responded immediately, kissing him back with a restlessness he was thirsty for as her hands fell on his own stomach. He knew what she wanted, but Dorian was a man with a mission and she wasn’t going to get it as easily as this. “Hm, wait.”

He felt her lips twitch, like she was about to bare teeth but was too busy kissing him to bother. Through her disapproval, Dorian licked at her mouth once more before breaking it off. He kissed her cheek once, then her neck. “I want to try something,” he whispered as his left hand caressed the side of her breast. “And you’re going to let me, yes?”

“And what is that?”

Dorian had to close his eyes at her voice, feeling how the hair on the back of his neck rose up. “Just wait…and don’t move.”

The King was quick to maneuver himself, kissing and licking his way down her neck, collarbone, down the center of her chest…then her stomach… She tensed and he knew he had been found out. “Dorian-”

But he didn’t let that stop him, going so far as to go for her inner thighs and moving them apart. “Just once,” he pleaded.

The look the witchling gave him was answer enough. Even though they had been courting for months, and had been intimate for that whole time, there was one thing Manon didn’t like.

Dorian stroked her hips, giving her his best pout. “We’re on holiday,” he explained still moving to where he wanted his mouth to be. “What is there to be afraid of?”

He sure knew.

Pleasure. Vulnerability. Helplessness.

Manon gave him a nice long stare, like she was considering it, and he tried not to give away that he was dying of excitement. His heartbeat rose when she looked up to the ceiling, lowering herself into the sheets-letting him do what he wanted.

Smiling like a complete lunatic, Dorian wasted no time as his mouth found what he had been after for months. She gave an involuntary breathy gasp at the first strokes of his tongue and the King wanted to roll his eyes to the back of his head. He had tasted her before, but not like this. Already knowing of her body, Dorian was quick to find her weaknesses, his eyes catching the way she placed a hand to her mouth-the way her head tilted to the side.

Manon was a lethal matriarch, capable of leading and dominating anyone in a room with her mere presence alone. But this ‘broken King’ as he knew she called him was able to get close, able to reduce her to a primal rendition of herself. Desperate for more of this side of her, Dorian grabbed at her leg, spreading her further-loving the little sound she let out as her hand found his head, those iron nails raking over his dark locks…but not to push him away, or hurt him.

Her breathing was short of erratic, and Dorian knew she was close. But there had been no sound, not a single moan. ‘Come now,’ he thought as he looked up at her face, ‘give me what I want.’

It took him a moment to hatch a plan, and he let his own instincts take over as he moved away, going up to her body and moving her hand out of the way, kissing her deep while their lower bodies connected in utter perfection.

There it was, he thought.

The moan he was waiting for.

Deep and full and wild. A beautiful sound he wanted to hear forever...

…and they were just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	19. Ghost Leopard

Dorian Havilliard smiled to himself when he heard the familiar flap of wings and the resounding croak coming from his balcony. Giddy because he was prepared for the arrival, the King opened the doors with a spring in his step and a matching grin to boot.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted charmingly as Abraxos bobbed his head in greeting, the iron teeth in his mouth glinting in the wake of the setting sun. Still trying to get used to petting the beast, Dorian held out his open palm and let the wyvern step into the touch, his smile turning caring as Abraxos stroked himself against his hand.

When Manon dropped down and stepped next to Dorian, the King took his hand back and faced her. “Hi, I asked the cook to prepare something special for tonight.”

Manon nodded once before waving to Abraxos who sniffed at her in what looked like concern before taking off. Dorian didn’t think much of it, especially as his attention fell on the scratches on the marble floor. Pointedly ignoring the marks, Dorian concentrated on Manon as she spoke. “You always have something ‘special’ planned.”

The young man chuckled as they stepped inside his rooms. “Not all the time, but either way, this time it’s different. I promise.” The little look she sent him spoke volumes, but Dorian didn’t mind it too much as he noted the bag in her hand. “Do you need to use the bathing room?” She usually would whenever she came back from the mountain.

“I’m fine.”

Dorian frowned. The tone in her voice said otherwise. “Are you okay?” He asked in concern, stepping closer.

She met his eyes, but her expression was controlled. “Just tired.”

Dorian was so surprised that she admitted to an ailment, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Instinctively, he reached for her waist. “What happe-”

She cried out. A small sound, barely noticeable, but the King’s heart jumped and he almost fell back. When Manon looked away with a cringe and placed a tentative hand on her side, he spoke up.

“I’m sorry, are you hurt, love?”

Slowly, the witch straightened and from the look on her face, he wondered if she was actually liable to pass out. “It’s nothing.” Nothing? His frown spoke for him, for she added, “it was a bad hunt.”

Paying rapt attention to her now, Dorian brought over the most comfortable couch in the room, urging her toward it. “Sit, tell me about it.”

There was a huff, but Manon followed through and Dorian did not like at all the way she gingerly sat down. As he contemplated calling a healer, she spoke. “We usually let the wyverns hunt the elk at the valley close to the mountain. After a number of the elk were down, we all flew to collect the spoils.” She shook her head, as if remembering shamed her. “A ghost leopard had been watching us and stalked up to where I was with the twins. Since I was still strapped to Abraxos I couldn’t move when it attacked.”

Dorian’s eyes were wide. “A ghost leopard? But-but how exactly did it happen?” Ghost leopards were notoriously good killers; the fact that Manon was sitting in front of him was a feat in itself.

“Abraxos is the smallest and I…‘show’ against the scenery. I’m not very good when it comes to stealth.” No, because wherever she went she brought attention to herself, even if she didn’t mean to.

“You said you were still strapped to Abraxos.”

Manon let out a breath, but it was careful and unnatural. “Abraxos noticed the leopard at the same time I did and was able to move out of the way some, but the cat still got me on the side. It’s just a scratch.”

Knowing it was a complete understatement, Dorian let her know. “From where I’m standing it doesn’t seem like ‘just a scratch.”

The witch shifted her head uncaringly. “It will heal.”

“Let me see.”

Manon actually growled, something Dorian hadn’t heard from her in months. If it had been months ago, the King would have backed off, letting her have her space-assuming she would take care of herself. But things were different, and their relationship had changed over time. “You can’t expect me _not_ to be worried,” he muttered softly, sitting next to her, but making sure not to touch anything.

The Blackbeak Matron blinked and Dorian prepared himself for rejection. As the silence stretched out for a bit too long they both spoke up.

“Alright,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said.

Oh.

The blue-eyed man wasted no time in letting her take back what she said, looking at her covered stomach. “Your left side, right?”

The witch was stiff, but she nodded which was a good sign. Daringly, he went for the side of her tunic, lifting up the shirt to reveal a string of white bandages surrounding the span of her waist, continuing almost to her chest from the looks of it. Three large blots of blue were on her left side in the shape of some nasty sharp claws.

Dorian let himself show complete bewilderment. “How did you even fly here?”

Manon lowered her shirt slowly. “I’ve had worse.”

The King shook his head, feeling as though he should say something-do something. “Forget the garden,” he snapped to himself, “we’re having dinner here and I’m getting you a healer.”

Manon raised a pretty eyebrow. “Garden?”

He would make sure the healer checked her over, give her ointments or teas for the pain and he would get her fresh sheets and help her bathe if she needed it…and maybe also make her eat dinner in bed and insist she stay tomorrow-also in bed.

“Dorian.”

Having a makeshift plan in his head, the mentioned one looked up. “Forget about it, you can stay here or on the bed while I get a healer, alright?” He had planned a whole event in the gardens of his castle with special firefly lights and fresh flowers and her favorite food-all that romantic stuff he had been dying to do with her since he could remember.

But her health came first.

“You underestimate a witch’s natural healing abilities,” she told him, going so far as to stand back up.

“No, no, sit down.”

“Dorian.”

His face was torn as he went back to her. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed marginally as she placed her hands on either side of his hips. “I don’t need a healer,” she whispered as her lips brushed his chin.

Dorian thought about it. “Let’s make a deal.” A roll of the eyes as she backed off, but that didn’t stop the King from continuing. “No healer, but you stay here for at least two nights.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Asterin told me you would say that.”

Of course she did, he thought.

Stepping close, Dorian kissed her cheek and felt a pleased shiver when she let him. “Deal?”

Manon looked at him for a while as he thumbed her braid between his fingers, wanting it loose so he could properly run his hands through the soft locks. “Fine.”

The smile he gave her was so wide his cheeks began to hurt. The kiss that followed was even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	20. Soup

Manon Blackbeak woke up because she was a bit too warm and a bit too…wet?

The witch was quick to untangle herself from the little princeling, who always seemed to find a way to snuggle close. The same one was still fast asleep, but there was something odd about him. The first thing she noticed was his breathing-a bit forced and hectic, while his skin felt hot to the touch, which explained the warmth.

Curiously, the witch passed a hand through his hair, noting how it was wet. Why was he sweating when it was cold in the room?

When Manon placed her fingers against his forehead, the King let out a pleased sound, as if the cold of her skin brought relief. “Dorian.”

He didn’t wake, barely even acknowledged her voice. This…had never happened before. Dorian was easy to wake, especially if she was touching him. Going over what she knew about humans, Manon thought it over.

Of course.

“A fever,” she muttered, letting her hand rest on his cheek curiously. Humans got sick often, didn’t they? _If_ Dorian was sick, he would need a healer.

Taking a decision, Manon got out of bed and dressed, wondering if she should leave him a wet towel or if that would worsen the situation. As an immortal, it was odd for Manon to be clueless when it came to something-especially when it was Dorian who needed help.

The Blackbeak Matron stepped out into the princeling’s hallway and blinked at the guard set in front of the double doors that led into Dorian’s set of rooms. “You,” she ordered, “where can I find a healer?”

The man didn’t even blink at her. “Is the King alright?”

“He might have what you mortals call ‘a cold.”

The guard bowed and offered to get the healers himself, but there was no one else around to look after Dorian and Manon wanted to make sure his care was of the best. “Stay here and do your job. Tell me where I need to go.”

After the guard, Alder, gave her directions, Manon arrived at a servant’s quarter two floors down from where Dorian’s rooms were. Everyone was asleep as it was still deep into the night, while the witch swiftly made her way across barren hallways and closed doors.

A light shone out of the place Alder told her about and Manon was glad she didn’t have to gut someone for sleeping on the job as there should be a healer available at any and all times. When she stepped into the doorway of the room, the female healer inside nearly screamed in surprise, but held herself back admirably.

Manon let the healer rake her eyes over her as she spoke. “You are the healer on duty?”

The woman, young and plump, nodded with a hasty bow. “Y-yes, my lady…?”

Uncaring of what she was called, Manon signaled back. “The King is feeling under the weather.”

Immediately, the woman’s whole countenance changed and the witch took in the way those brown eyes narrowed in concern. “What kind of ailment does he have?”

“A fever, perhaps a cold?”

The woman nodded, going over the desk and taking out different things as she spoke. “There _is_ a bug flying around.”

Confused, Manon searched the room for that ‘bug,’ but when she found nothing, she looked back at the healer. “Do you need…help?” It hurt to say that.

The woman gave her a smile. “I can give him tonics and the such, but he might need to eat something soon. If you want to help, ask the cook to prepare a soup with these ingredients. Tell him it’s for the King of course.”

Manon took the hand-written list with a nod, looking over the items and not completely understanding how they could help Dorian. “I’ll get it.”

“Alright, I’ll go to the King’s rooms as soon as I am done gathering my items.”

Manon didn’t say goodbye as she walked toward the castle’s main kitchen, taking in the large room with a clinical eye, going through the kitchen doors at the back and laying eyes on the cook who was sleeping on a cot next to a dying fireplace. A few of his servants lay on their own cots in different parts of the room.

Not wanting to touch the rather smelly man, Manon raised her voice. “Cook.”

He awoke immediately, like he was used to this kind of reception, and as he placed a hat over his balding head he turned around. “Yes, what is it-”

The shock annoyed her and Manon kept her iron teeth in their sockets. “I need a soup with these ingredients.”

The man’s eyes were bulging as he took the list from her. It seemed to take him an infuriatingly long time to look away from her before he checked the list. “Is this for you?” The worry in his voice was almost laughable.

“The King,” she bit.

“Ah, I see,” the man said, standing up and heading for the nearest set of stoves, grabbing a cauldron. “You are the lover people whisper about.” The frankness of his statement was overshadowed by the fact that he dared to voice it at all.

When she remained quiet, he chuckled. “Our King is a special one, you should feel lucky.” A pleasant smell lifted from the soup the cook was preparing and he gave her a little glance with a half-smile on his face. “Or perhaps he is the lucky one?”

The chuckle unnerved her, especially since she wanted to go back to Dorian’s rooms.

“What’s your name, fair lady?”

A growl was threatening to escape. “Just do your job.”

The cook seemed to notice her patience was wearing thin and went silent for the remaining time it took the soup to cook. When it was finally done, the man placed the meal into a plate and gave it to Manon with a bow. “I will have another prepared for the morning.”

It took quite a bit of working through, but after a lot of inner persistence from the deepest part of her, the witch managed to hack out a measly ‘thank you’ the cook accepted with a smile.

When Manon finally arrived back in the rooms, she squinted a bit at the light coming from within, ignoring the guard and going straight for Dorian’s bed at the end of the rooms. The healer was making quick work around him, removing the sheets and placing towels on him. She looked up for a second. “Ah, there you are. Try and see if you can wake him, this fever is not going to let up unless he eats.”

Not needing more incentive, Manon walked next to the bed, on the side the healer wasn’t on. Trying to not think about the woman, the witch slowly passed her fingers through his hair, knowing just where he liked to be touched. “Dorian,” she muttered, “wake up.” 

The King groaned, his own hand coming up to his forehead. “Ow, my head.”

“Your Majesty, you are sick,” the healer informed him as Dorian opened his eyes marginally. “We need you to sit up and eat.”

“Sick?” He asked. “I was fine yesterday.” His voice was hoarse and broken, like he needed water.

Feeling as though she needed to do something, Manon went for the water the healer placed on the bedside table. “Here, drink.”

Dorian raised his head a bit, and Manon had to place a hand under his chin to keep the water from falling on the sheets. At this point, however, the sheets needed a change either way. “What happened?”

The healer made Manon move aside as she took over, making Dorian take different things, roots and tea included. “You seem to have caught a cold, your highness,” he was told, “when you finish this, eat the soup and then you should take a long cool bath.”

Dorian cringed at the taste of the tea, but his eyes were on Manon. “Did you get Niana for me?” Niana must be the healer’s name then. When the witch assented, she took in the flushed face, the red on his cheeks and the way his damp hair looked. Despite the sickness, Dorian was already starting to look better.

The tired smile he gave her was captivating. “Thank you.”

She hoped the dim lighting hid the redness that suddenly spread over her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this series and leaving nice comments and/or kudos! I appreciate every single one! Soon I will begin posting the next part which was written post-EoS. The book gave me a lot to work with and I enjoyed their interactions in it. 
> 
> Thanks again!


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